Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts

On Motherhood and Borrowed Bodies

[Editor's Note: The following is a guest post by Dr. Valerie Mason-John, whose story "The Gift" is included in IMOW's MAMA: Motherhood Around the Globe exhibition.] 



Motherhood today in the west is so different than what it looked like a hundred years ago. Yes, even in the west, it was a village that raised our children. Often the grandmothers raised their grandchildren, while the mothers went out to work.

Today we are lucky if we get to see our grandparents more than once a year. The family has broken down so much that there is often nobody in the family who will take children in when a mother is in crisis. So we raise our children in foster care, children's homes, and adoptive homes. Motherhood is very different for those of us who grow up in this context.

Born in the 60s, I can say I was raised by a village. I grew up in an orphanage, and every adult was your guardian. I am fortunate for my upbringing and know that if I had of been raised by my biological mother, I would not have had the emotional and physical health I experience today. Intuitively I think she knew she couldn't be a mother to any of her kids and gave all four of us up.

I have had several mothers (two of them dead--Aunty Claire and Aunty Morag). My dad, Uncle Boris, who has also passed. I have a foster mother still very much alive, and my biological mother is also still alive, so perhaps I am lucky.

My award-winning novel Borrowed Body, once called "the British Color Purple," has just been published in North America by Demeter Press. It is a slice of quintessential England in the 1960s and 70s, where a black child is born into the new year of 1965, to a society that wasn't prepared to accept an African baby abandoned on a harsh English winter day. So begins Pauline's spirited journey, in the spirit world and in and out of foster homes, back and forth to orphanages. Her spirit friends parent her throughout her moving rites of passage.

I have been asked if there is a sequel to Borrowed Body. I consider my recent TEDx talk (posted above) the sequel . Whether you read my novel first, or watch my TEDx talk, know this is the story of many children who do not make it in life.

CLIO TALKS BACK: What Kind of Mother . . . ?

Erma Bombeck (1927-1996) was one of America’s most beloved writers. She did not write novels, she wrote humorous and irreverent observations about the serious things in life.

In tribute to the perils and joys of motherhood everywhere, Clio is sharing this excerpt from Erma Bombeck’s observations on motherhood:
"‘What kind of a mother would . . .’ It was a familiar phrase. Ten years and three children earlier, I had used it myself with just the right blend of shock and disapproval. . . .
“ ‘Mother’ has always been a generic term synonymous with love, devotion, and sacrifice. There’s always been something mystical and reverent about them. They’re . . . infallible, virtuous, without flaws and conceived without original sin, with no room for ambivalence.
“Immediately following birth, every new mother drags from her bed and awkwardly pulls herself up on the pedestal provided for her.
“Some adjust easily to the saintly image. They come to love the adulation and bask in the flocks that come to pay homage at their feet on Mother’s Day.
“Some can’t stand the heights and jump off, never to be seen again.
“But most mothers just try to figure out what they’re supposed to do—and how they can do it in public.
“Motherhood is the second oldest profession in the world. It never questions age, height, religious preference, health, political affiliation, citizenship, morality, ethnic background, marital status, economic level, convenience, or previous experience.
“It’s the biggest on-the-job training program in existence today.
“Motherhood is not a one-size-fits all, a mold that is all-encompassing and means the same thing to all people.
“Some mothers give standing ovations to bowel movements. Other mothers reserve their excitement for an affair.
“Some mothers have so much guilt, they cannot eat a breath mint without sharing it. Other mothers feel nothing when they tell a kid his entire pillowcase of Halloween candy got ants in it . . . and eats it herself. . . .
“I’ve always felt uncomfortable about the articles that eulogized me as a nurse, chauffeur, cook, housekeeper, financier, counselor, philsopher, mistress, teacher, and hostess. It seemed that I always read an article like this on the day when my kid was in a school play and I ironed only the leg of the trouser that faced the audience, knitted all morning, napped all afternoon, bought a pizza for dinner, and had a headache by 10:30.
“For a long time, I was afraid to laugh at the contrast for fear no one else would. . . .
“What is certain is that there is probably not one of you who has not at some time of your life demanded an answer to the question “What kind of a mother would . . .’ It’s an old phrase, conceived in innocence, carried with pomposity, and born of condemnation. It is not until you become a mother that your judgment slowly turns to compassion and understanding.
“Let none of you who read about . . . mothers judge them until you have walked in their shoes of clay.”

Source: Erma Bombeck: “Introduction” to Motherhood: The Second Oldest Profession (McGraw-Hill, 1983), excerpts pp. 1-4.

Clio Talks Back: Happy Mothers, Grieving Mothers


by Mary Cassatt
Among women artists who have depicted scenes about motherhood, two particularly stand out in Clio’s mind: Mary Cassatt (1844-1926 ), an American from Philadelphia who resided for much of her life in Paris where she painted with the Impressionists, and Käthe Kollwitz (1867-1945), who was born in Königsberg (then in East Prussia, now part of Russia) but lived primarily in Berlin where she was identified with the Naturalist school. Both are ranked among the greatest artists of their time.

By Mary Cassatt
Mary Cassatt, a woman of means, never married nor had children of her own (because she thought marriage and children would interfere with her career as a painter). Yet she seems to have thought a lot about motherhood; some of her finest paintings are tender, benign private scenes of well-dressed mothers, seemingly unmarked by unhappiness or political turmoil, gazing at, touching, and tending to their well-fed, healthy-looking, almost sensuously delicious babies. Her paintings are colorful and, at first glance, sweet. Yet, Cassatt’s early biographer Achille Ségard, insists that she was a “painter of children and of mothers,” rather than of the romanticized joys of motherhood.

Käthe Kollwitz, on the other hand, did marry. She bore two sons while continuing to pursue her artistic career. She worked in various media, including etchings and bronze statuary. Her works of art are somber, full of shadows and blackness.

by Käthe Kollwitz

Kollwitz’s depictions of motherhood are poignant; they bear the mark of an intense social consciousness of poverty, deprivation, and death. The loss of one son who was serving in the German army in World War I undoubtedly exacerbated this tendency. Her concern for the fate of the poor and unfortunate, particularly mothers attempting to protect children or mourning dead children, was magnified by the political, social, and economic turmoil that ensued in the wake of the lost war, compounded by the ominous, overhanging threat of yet another war. In 1922 she wrote: “There has been enough of dying! Let not another man fall!” . . . and she quoted from Germany’s great poet Goethe, “Seed for the planting must not be ground.”

by Käthe Kollwitz
Kollwitz’s impressive bronze, Tower of Mothers, a work completed in 1938 – just as the shadow of war once again hovered over Europe – has inspired a contemporary poet named Gail Peck to publish the following meditation:
Today their hearts are stone,
these mothers who’ve created
a fortress with their bodies,
their children peecking from the folds
of skirts. One mother has her bare feet planted,
another has her fist in the air.
No, they shout at marching boots,
planes overhead. Nothing can get
to the children now – what kind
of game is this they ask?
It has no name. 
Clio’s question: Throughout history, mothers have repeatedly nurtured and tried to protect their children, to keep them safe from the ravages of poverty and war. Why has it been so difficult for mothers and others to triumph over those dark forces of destruction? Why can’t all children have a beautiful future, like the children of the mothers in the works of Mary Cassatt? Why do some nations continue, even today, to “grind” their seed for planting rather than planting it?


Further reading: 

Griselda Pollock, “Mary Cassatt: The Touch and the Gaze, or Impressionism for Thinking People,” in Women Impressionists (Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, 2008).

Martha Kearns, Käthe Kollwitz, Woman and Artist (Feminist Press, 1976).

Elizabeth Prelinger, et al., Käthe Kollwitz (National Gallery of Art, Washington, and Yale University Press, 1992).

Gail Peck, “Tower of Mothers,” Wild Goose Poetry Review, posted Nov. 10, 2011.

CLIO TALKS BACK: What Do We Really Know About the History of Maternity and Motherhood in Sub-Saharan Africa?

Clio just read a recent, important article by a French colleague, Anne Hugon, who addresses the history of maternity in sub-Saharan Africa. As she remarks, everyone who knows about African societies agrees that maternity is an obligatory passage for black African women, and that the status of women is determined by their fertility – the more children they have, the higher their status. Sterility is grounds for suspicion and marginalization.

And yet, few scholars have actually studied maternity in southern African societies as a historical issue, one that concerns the changes over time in the experiences of women in pregnancy, birth, the post-partum experience of nursing and childrearing and that engages the experiences of both women and men. Until recently, this was a history that still cried out to be written, to be recovered from the shadows of “nature” and restored to “culture” and to history.

Anthropologists, according to Hugon, had looked mainly at kinship systems and rituals, but did not deal either with maternity per se, or with change over time. Historians have found means of studying maternity in several contexts, but primarily in the colonial periods where christianization of the populace entailed “educating” future wives and mothers for european-style domesticity. Another striking feature of the historicizing of maternity is the irony of preparing stay-at-home mothers in an economy where men did not support their families and the possibility of earning money was extremely low. A third important feature is the medicalization of pregnancy and birth, in the interests of maternal and infant survival but also in the interests of the colonial state. Hugon singles out for commendation a study by Lynn Thomas on the “politics of the uterus” in Kenya during the period between the world wars, where control of women’s sexuality and fertility became a central issue.

What seems to be missing in all this research, which is admittedly in its early stages, are the voices of the mothers and their own accounts of their coming to motherhood. Can these voices be recuperated? How did these mothers in the various cultures that constitute sub-Saharan Africa understand their own motherhood experiences? How do these mothers understand their motherhood experiences today?



Further reading:
Hugon, Anne. “L’historiographie de la maternité en Afrique subsaharienne,” Clio: Histoire, Femmes et Sociétés, no. 21 (2005), 212-229. This review article features over four pages of invaluable references to pertinent scholarship in French and English. Online at http://clio.revues.org

Thomas, Lynn. Politics of the Womb : Women, Reproduction and the State in Kenya. Berkeley & Los Angeles : University of California Press, 2003.

Tale of Two Mothers

[Editor's Note: The following is a guest post by Kate Grant, CEO of The Fistula Foundation. It was previously published in The Huffington Post on May 8, 2011. The Fistula Foundation is a partner of IMOW for our new online exhibition, MAMA: Motherhood Around the Globe.]


Nurse and patient in Ethiopia

In spring of 1999 a young woman named Cipriana got married in Huambo Province in central Angola, and became pregnant with her first child. That same spring, after a wedding I think my own mother thought would never happen, I too became pregnant with my first child in New York. Like most first time mothers, as my due date approached I was simultaneously anxious and thrilled, waiting for my big day. Cipriana too was excited about soon becoming a mother -- a role that would give her status and a place in her community. Her labor and mine began with the same universal pain, growing gradually excruciating as the day progressed. After nearly 24 hours we both remained in labor, and here our stories diverge.

When I went into active labor at midnight my husband and I headed off to the hospital. As night turned to day and day turned to night again, after four hours of pushing, my big baby was lodged in my small frame, not going anywhere; a C-section was ordered. I whimpered with a sense of personal defeat and disappointment. But, other than a bruised ego, the only sign of that agonizing labor left after delivery was a small line of staples below my "bikini line" where my healthy baby boy had been removed from my exhausted body.

Kate Grant and a fistula patient
For Cipriana a world away the end game of her labor could not have been more different from my own. Like most mothers in sub-Saharan Africa, she endured a traditional home birth, and with no emergency obstetric care available, her labor continued there even when it was clear she needed help. Forget pain killing drugs. Forget the C-section. Once the baby died in utero she expelled the lifeless body, swept into eternity on a tide of pain and unbearable heartbreak. That's an ugly and deeply, upsetting image. But, the hard truth is that every day that is the reality for thousands of women and their stillborn babies.

But, Cipriana's situation grew worse after her labor ended, when she discovered that she was left with a large obstetric fistula, an injury created by her extended obstructed labor that left her leaking urine constantly. Her young husband quickly abandoned her and she returned home to be cared for by her mother; both she and her mother moved outside their village because of Cipriana's odor and stigma. For a decade she lived as a social outcast sustained by the love of her mother, until she received much needed surgery to repair her fistula at the Central Evangelical Hospital in Lubango.

Cipriana was just one of the 2.6 million mothers who deliver a stillborn baby each year, and one of the estimated 100,000 who develop a fistula. Five to ten percent of births are obstructed, yet only four percent of women in most African countries get C-sections. You can do that math. That means of course that an awful lot of laboring women don’t get the help they need during labor; the result: lots of dead babies and injured women. We tiptoe around this tragic, often preventable reality. Think of the word "stillbirth". Sounds peaceful, serene, and almost divine. So much gentler than dead baby or grey lifeless body, with the word birth even being a cruel hoax, since the child will never take a breath and their mother's soul will be forever changed by an immutable, indelible loss.

Not a day goes by that I don't look at my own energetic freckle-faced fourteen year old boy -- brimming with life and possibility -- and recognize how very lucky I am to have him. Had I tried to deliver him in most places in sub-Saharan Africa, he would have died, a pure and simple 'stillbirth.' And me, who knows? Would I have awoken the next day to a urine soaked bed, the sure sign of a fistula, or would I have died in childbirth when my exhausted uterus ruptured?

The world renowned Egyptian Obstetrician/Gynecologist Mahmoud Fathalla, said it better than anyone "Women are not dying because of diseases we cannot treat. They are dying because society has yet to make the decision that their lives are worth saving." The same can be said for most of those stillborn babies and injured women. We know what works to stop this carnage: prenatal care, family planning services, access to skilled birth attendants and emergency obstetric care.

So today, open your mouth along with your mind and your heart; share this truth with someone you care about: each year millions of mothers are dying or being horribly injured and babies are dying needlessly. Then, if you're up to it, do something else. We are citizens of the richest and more innovative country the world has ever known. We've got the power collectively to bend the curve. If you are a letter writer, write your Senator or Congressman/woman and ask them to support US foreign aid for maternal and child health and funding for UNFPA. Or go on Google: find an organization that speaks to your heart. Act. Do it for your mother. Do it for your wife. Do it for your sister. Do it for your child. Do it for yourself. The late genius John Lennon had it right: "Apathy isn't it."

Maternal Self-Esteem

[Editor's Note: This is a guest post by Dr. Jessica Zucker,a licensed clinical psychologist in Los Angeles specializing in women's health with a focus on fertility, prenatal and postpartum adjustments, attachment, and transitions in motherhood. Learn more about Jessica at her website.


This story is part of a new, ongoing series of guest posts about motherhood. Visit IMOW's new online exhibition MAMA: Motherhood Around the Globe at mama.imow.org ]

Flickr / Mario Izquierdo
Body change is shrouded in fear. Iconic female bodies are tiny, toned, tight, and most definitely without the permanence of stretch marks. Pregnancy creates a cultural conundrum. On the one hand, culture secretly (though not so quietly sometimes) mandates that women work their hardest to look as though their bodies are as slight as a whisper, taking up little to no space, while simultaneously exuding sexiness and a little bit of sass. The ever-changing prenatal body is creating, carrying, and nurturing new life and with that comes a robustness that potentially stirs unresolved issues, handed down from culture, family, and shaky self-esteem.

When self-esteem is predicated on the number that pops up on the scale each morning or hinges on whether or not you can fit into freshly dried jeans today that you wore comfortably yesterday, pregnancy may present a warranted wake-up call.

All too often I hear rumblings of regret, from day one of the positive pregnancy test up to at least one-year postpartum, about the maternal body’s metamorphosis. “Instead of relishing my ever-increasing curves, I find myself comparing my body to my pregnant co-worker, as if being smaller will render me the winner of an unspoken competition.“ “Someone asked me if I’m having twins, and I’m only 25 weeks pregnant with a singleton, what am I going to look like by 40 weeks? There is nothing beautiful about being this huge.” “I’m the size of a whale, a house, a continent!” and “I’m ready to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight. I want my body to be normal again. I’m sick of this bulging belly, drooping breasts, and not feeling like my old self.”

Rarely are women enjoying the idyllic “glow” rumored to accompany pregnancy. Instead, pregnant women often find it an arduous task to establish a sense of comfort in their newfound maternal skin. More often than not women report being mildly or severely tormented by the myriad body changes occurring throughout pregnancy and beyond. In fact, pre-pregnancy body image challenges that get reinvigorated during this transformative time may be a regrettable source of anxiety and/or depression. Studies have found that “anxiety disorders are more frequent than depression during pregnancy, and at least as common as depression during the postpartum period, if not more so. Depression and anxiety are kind of like thunder and lightning- they just go together” (Wiegartz & Gyoerkoe, 2009). Even seemingly sturdy pre-pregnancy self-esteem can be undermined by a tidal wave of disorienting anxiety.

Self-esteem is an aspect of personality that can be cultivated across the lifespan. Dedicated introspection and mindfully growing self-understanding allows for increased ease and fruitful connections. Pregnancy may awaken previously untouched, powerful feelings about self-worth, body image, and familial relationships. Some say that pregnancy is miraculous. Yet, undigested internal struggles will not miraculously disappear during pregnancy. Instead, a resurgence of unknown or pushed away fears may bubble to the surface during this nascent experience. Bolstering your sense of self-worth during pregnancy by thoughtfully examining unresolved issues may harness a greater sense of postpartum confidence and peace of mind as parenthood emerges.

Parents are created not born. The process of becoming a parent is marked by pregnancy and is a lifelong journey filled with opportunities for growth and development. Who we are at any given time invariably gets imbued into how we negotiate parenting. Pregnancy provides a ripe opportunity to deeply understand the parenting we received, the parenting we hope to provide, and perhaps most importantly, delving into places of internal unrest with the aim of resolving historical pain. When we parent from the inside out, we benefit enormously by establishing self-esteem that is tenacious and authentic.

Intergenerational transmission of self-esteem may be a worthwhile concept to ponder during this gestational period. Hardy parental self-esteem models enhanced flexibility of mind and a comfort in the world while self-worth riddled with insecurity and ambivalence may yield enduring anxiety across generations. “The development of the child’s whole personality is influenced by many things, including genetics, temperament, physical health, and experience. Parent-child relationships offer one very important part of the early experience that directly shapes a child’s emerging personality. Emotional intelligence, self-esteem, cognitive abilities, and social skills are built on this early attachment relationship. How parents have reflected on their lives directly shapes the nature of that relationship” (Siegel & Hartzell, 2003).

Arming ourselves with prenatal parenting skills and reflective emotional insight can help garner a graceful pregnancy and postpartum adjustment period. Self-esteem, along with hormonal shifts and social support, play a central role in post-pregnancy transitions. Postpartum blues, depression, and anxiety are too common to be ignored. Even the most ironclad sense of self-esteem can be readily dismantled by the impact of postpartum mood disorders. “The juxtaposition of one of life’s greatest gifts and one of life’s most unkind illnesses is what makes postpartum depression different from depression that is unrelated to childbirth” (Kleiman, 2009). Feeling unbearably hopeless, frighteningly disconnected or overtaken by crippling anxiety can leave someone who previously felt like Super Woman unrecognizably lifeless. This is all the more reason to take time out to do the reflective work necessary to feel grounded in who you are as a woman and a mother-to-be.

Parenthood is a perennial adventure. Babies do not arrive with universal instruction manuals spelling out the various ways we can help them thrive in the world. Creating secure, healthy self-esteem in our children comes from a much deeper place within, not necessarily from anything we read in a how-to book. Asking for help when we need it, identifying our strengths as a parent, and attempting to be consciously aware of stumbling blocks promise to engender a mindful childhood for your offspring. Research has shown that “parents who themselves did not have ‘good enough parents’ or who even had traumatic childhoods can make sense of their lives and have healthy relationships. More important for our children than merely what happened to us in the past is the way we have come to process and understand it. The opportunity to change and grow continues to be available throughout our lives” (Siegel & Hartzell, 2003).

Building self-esteem within our children begins before they are born. It begins within our selves.


This post was previously published on the Huffington Post and PBS.org.

Lactivists Across the US Fight to Breastfeed in Public

The Milk Truck of Pittsburgh (via Gizmodo)
Lactating mothers that feel breastfeeding is a public right seem to have been coming out of the woodworks and are more vocal than ever in recent days.

In August, a Utah woman blogged about a negative confrontation by Whole Foods staff after she had tried to feed her child there. One social media campaign led to another, and soon a “nurse-in,” or the lactating mother’s version of a “sit in,” was established at 20 stores across the country. Whole Foods has since issued a public apology.

And just last month, a woman shopping in a Texas Target location said employees harassed her after she had breastfed her screaming infant in a secluded corner of the store. This spurred more than 100 nurse-ins in at least 35 states; and after 250 or more national demonstrations, Target Corporation issued a statement welcoming breastfeeding. Especially in the fitting rooms: “…even if others are waiting to use the fitting rooms,” claimed the apologetic memo.
They call themselves “lactivists,” or, more memorably, “NIP (Nursing in Public),” and, in case you haven’t caught them at a big box chain or major grocer near you, you may soon find them on wheels.

At least in theory, that is. An ice cream truck with a giant erect breast on its roof has been roaming the streets of Pittsburgh, PA as a safe haven for the lactating mother in need. Jill Miller, an art instructor at Carnegie Mellon, designed what’s known as the “Milk Truck” to come to the rescue of mothers wishing to nurse whenever they feel shunned publicly. The Truck, while not exactly practical for every breastfeeding mom in Pittsburgh, was part of the Andy Warhol Museum’s 2011 Biennial exhibit, which ended January 8.

As symbolic as the Milk Truck may be, the community support was overwhelming: Miller’s kickstarter campaign to launch the truck racked in more than $15,000 to start up, and the Pittsburgh City Council named Sept. 13 "Milk Truck Day."

A city proclamation declared: "Whereas, the Milk Truck…believes babies should be able to eat anywhere and everywhere; and … be it further resolved."

On a national scale, the Surgeon General issued out a call to action to support breastfeeding in January of last year. Surgeon General Regina M. Benjamin said: "Many barriers exist for mothers who want to breastfeed. They shouldn’t have to go it alone."

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention says that while 75% of US babies start out breastfeeding, only 13% are exclusively breastfed at the end of 6 months. According to the call to action, breastfeeding protects babies from infections and illnesses like diarrhea, ear infections, and pneumonia. Breastfed babies are also less likely to develop asthma, and those who are breastfed for six months are less likely to become obese. Mothers themselves who breastfeed have a decreased risk of breast and ovarian cancers.

It wasn’t until 1999 that a US federal law was enacted to specifically address mothers wishing to breastfeed in public, but it only protects women wishing to feed in a federal building or a federal property. There are no stipulations for private organizations and properties that include retail stores and restaurants, although some states are passing laws for further protection.

In Canada, a 1989 Supreme Court case held that, since pregnancy was a condition unique to women, discrimination against women on the basis of pregnancy is a form of sex discrimination.

The most recent battleground for public breastfeeding? The streets of Sesame. That’s right, one of the nation’s most beloved children’s shows has now been targeted for failing to support breastfeeding women. So far, more than 30,000 people have signed a petition to bring breastfeeding back to Sesame Street.

Have women ever felt safe breastfeeding their babies in public? And if not, are these “lactivists” just the beginning of a new feminist movement?

CLIO TALKS BACK: Eleanor Rathbone and the Endowment of Motherhood in Britain

From 1908 on Eleanor Rathbone (1872-1946) served on the Liverpool City Council in England and later became one of the first women to be elected to the British Parliament. Throughout her life she concerned herself with the plight of the disadvantaged – be they British children, Indian women, African victims of female circumcision rites, or refugees from Nazi Germany. She clearly understood how dependent women had become in British society as well as elsewhere.

Rathbone opposed the idea of a “family wage” paid to employed men, advocating instead a plan for family allowances whereby the husband’s employer, or in case of his unemployment, the state, would pay a separate allowance for each child directly to his wife. By this means she hoped to enhance the oppressed and narrow lives of working-class wives and mothers. The notion that wives and children were necessarily men’s dependents seemed, to her, demeaning.

Eleanor Rathbone viewed this economic approach to empowering mothers as part of a “New Feminism,” by which she meant dealing with women’s needs in women’s terms. In 1924 she elaborated her views in a widely-read book, The Disinherited Family, in which she argued that the time had come to focus on the problems of women in the family. Not surprisingly, it was her controversial insistence that the family allowance be paid to the wife/mother that stirred up the most resistance.

Opponents of the plan included Millicent Garrett Fawcett, Rathbone’s predecessor as head of the National Union of Woman’s Suffrage Societies. Fawcett, herself an economic thinker, feared that such payments to the wife and mother would undermine the sense of responsibility of men – husbands and fathers – by degrading their hallowed role as economic providers. This, she feared, would destroy rather than stabilize the family. Eleanor Rathbone strongly disagreed.

In 1925 Rathbone responded to Fawcett’s concerns by rolling out a visionary agenda in which she suggested that merely clearing away the old laws or seeking equal pay for equal work did not go far enough. Finally the time had some, she argued, to “demand what we want for women, not because it is what men have got, but because it is what women need to fulfil the potentialities of their own natures and to adjust themselves to the circumstances of their own lives.” This, she claimed, was the agenda of the “New Feminism.”

Rathbone’s plan was ultimately incorporated into a “Family Endowment Act” by the British Labour Government in 1945, immediately after the end of the Second World War.

Clio wants to know what you think about the notion of employer-allocated or state-allocated family allowances as a means of empowering mothers. Is this still an attractive solution for women today? Your comments are, of course, welcome.


Sources:

1. Women, the Family, and Freedom: The Debate in Documents, vol. 2 (1880-1950), documents 88-91: Family Endowment and the “New Feminism.”
2. Susan Pedersen, Eleanor Rathbone and the Politics of Conscience (Yale University Press).

CLIO TALKS BACK: Do Mothers Have a History?


The illustration above is possibly the first and oldest illustration of a birth by Caesarian section.   Not all mothers give birth the usual way.

Clio found this illustration in the first comprehensive history of motherhood, written by her colleagues Catherine Fouquet and Yvonne Knibiehler.  Their lavishly illustrated volume, which spans the centuries from the Middle Ages to the later twentieth century, is a book that women’s historians ever since have admired, envied, and tried to supplement.  It is a book from which we can all learn a great deal.

Here are the authors’ thoughts from the Introduction to their history of motherhood, as translated from the French by Clio. Their observations are still worth pondering as the International Museum of Women prepares to launch its online exhibition “Mama.”

Do Mothers - and Motherhood -  have a history?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Historians have hardly paid attention to mothers. If a Blanche of Castille, a Catherine de Medici have attracted their attention, it is especially because they were queens and their motherhood carried political weight. Traditional history hardly entered into private life: first defined as the expression of human collectivities, it cristallized around the State and the Nation. Why did Herodotus write his Histories? To tell how the Greek people, despite their small number, triumphed over a great king with innumerable troops: thanks to this triumph, the Greeks became conscious of their national identity and their freedom. It was there that history was born, as consciousness of liberty: born of the idea that the human being was achieved through a collective destiny. In order to enter the field of history, it must, one thought, shed its individual dimension, the intimate and personal part of its existence. In this perspective, there can be no history except political history, at the civic level. . .].

"Mothers, with very rare exceptions, belong to private life, and even to the most intimate aspects of private life. They do not have history: at least this is what one might think, given the silence of historians. But, in our time, private life falls with a great clamour into the public domain, and everything becomes political. Could one go so far as to say that the recent laws on abortion and contraception have granted mothers this liberty which is the first condition of history? This would be false: they have acquired there an entirely negative, entirely individual liberty, the liberty for each to not be a mother, but not that of existing as mothers, collectively and actively. In fact, it was the public powers which constituted mothers as a homogenous but passive group, when they began to get nervous about the drop in the birth rate. Then we witnessed [the advent of] Mother’s Day, Motherhood Medals, assistance to mothers, protection of mothers. At the end of the nineteenth century and especially in the interwar period [of the twentieth century], one could suddenly measure the political importance of anonymous mothers in the nation. It is from there that the historians have taken up the issue: by interrogating the origins of dénatalité, they began to be concerned with mothers, but only indirectly, without placing them at the center of their inquiry. These first investigations, however, sufficed to make it clear that maternity lay neither outside time nor outside history.

"Once admitted as a subject of history, one must define it and locate its limits. To begin with, where does maternity begin and where does it end? The young woman who has just conceived for the first time – is she already a mother? And the grandmother who knits for her children’s children, is she still one? Does a mother who loses her children cease to be a mother? Maternity has no end. She who abandons her little ones, she who slays them, becomes an “unnatural mother,” a “criminal mother” – she does not cease to be a mother in the eyes of society. Further, who is a mother? She who gives birth to the infant? She who raises it? She who cherishes it and will love it always whatever else happens? In other words, is motherhood a biological function, a social function, a psycho-affective function? In one period, in one collectivity, one of these functions has been accented without the others necessarily disappearing. And how can we account for the cruel stepmother [marâtre], the godmother, the mother-in-law, the big sister who takes care of the little ones? Finally, motherhood is not the result of parthogenesis. The material and moral situation of the mother, her relationship to the infant, depend to a very great extent on the father, for better or worse. Can one speak of mothers, even of unmarried mothers, without thinking of love, marriage, laws and norms, of mentalities and family customs?

"Thus it is a vast subject, of indecisive form, this history of mothers. It spills over into the history of medicine and health by the birth process and care to newborns, into the history of demography by rates of birth and death, into that of material life and techniques with housework, into that of mentalities with regard to the carving up of masculine and feminine roles and generational conflicts, that of education, that of feelings. The quest for sources, indispensable materials for the historian, is not so easy. The historian quickly discovers that the consultable documents fall into two categories: on the one hand those that contain concrete information on maternal behavior, and on the other those who talk about maternity or who depict it. The first group are particularly of the demographic or ethnographic sort. By looking at documents from the civil registry and parish registers, demographic historians have been able to establish, for example, the age of mothers when their first child is born, the spacing of births, the total number of children born and surviving, the number of illegitimate births, of foundlings, of babies put out to wetnurses. Other sources provide information on traditional means of preventing births, the rate of infanticides, the closing of ranks by families around children. The ethnologists, for their part, explore the concrete environment of maternity and traditional practices about giving birth, breastfeeding, and infant care. All these phenomena can vary considerably with respect to the time, place, and surroundings: economic, political, and cultural factors that underlie these differences begin to be discernable little by little, attesting to the fact that mothers certainly do have a history. As for the discourses and representations that motherhood has inspired, they are for the most part produced by men. Theologians and moralists who announce the divine will, physicians and anthropologists who reveal the order of nature, jurists and statesmen who formulate the needs of society, artists who translate a sensibility: all speak abundantly about what a mother is and what she should be.

"During this time, paradoxically, the women, the mothers keep still. They have written poems and novels about love: they have not written poems or novels about maternal love. Even their letters are often lacking on this subject, apart from those of Madame de Sévigné. Nor do they describe their specific experiences: neither giving birth nor nursing have been the objects of any sincere and profound accounts until very recently. At the dawn of the nineteenth century one can see, at the same time as a decisive progress in the reduction of the birthrate among those in the higher levels of society, the arrival of a number of texts by women about little children. This is no accident, insofar as it is true that the act of writing is above all else the expression of a freedom. As long as babies were simply something one submitted to, the sign of biologic destiny, they were not discussed. The silence of women is a fact of civilization which scarcely lends itself to simple interpretations: the history of mothers is mysterious and difficult.

"Then why try to write it?

"History is memory. Individuals who lose their memories lose their identities at the same time. The same thing goes for human groups: inasfar as a group has no history, it has no identity, it does not exist as a group, however numerous it might be. But if it gives itself a history, it begins to exist; at the same time as its past, it has the possibility of constructing its future. The authors of this book, mothers and women historians hope to aid women in constructing theirs."

Source: “Les Mères ont-elles une histoire?,” Introduction to Yvonne Knibiehler and Catherine Fouquet, L’Histoire des Mères du moyen-âge à nos jours (Paris: Editions Montalba, 1980), pp. 4-6. Transl. from the French by Karen Offen

CLIO TALKS BACK: Clio Investigates the “Politics” of Motherhood


An illustration from the Bulletin des Groupes féministes de l’Enseignement laique calling for Maternity as a Social Function. The caption reads: “we demand that society finally understandthe role that is required: that the mother’s budget replace the war budget, that the budget for life replace the budget for death.” It points out that the War Budget of the French state is 5000 million francs, whereas the Mother’s Budget amounts to a mere 114 million francs.

Motherhood around the world has never been simply a matter of women bearing children. It has never been simply about the joys of maternity or the fears about keeping children healthy and safe. Sometimes, as was the case in many European countries, the governments got into the act. Feminists, too, demanded that governments designate maternity as a paid social function. Why? Because the conditions for maternity were terrible, birth-rates were falling, many of the babies who survived childbirth would die before their first birthday, those who lived longer suffered stunted growth, and the leaders of nation-states feared the economic (and military) consequences of the stagnant population. Promoting contraceptive information was illegal and often young women were ill-informed about how to avoid pregnancies.

Henriette Alquier published the following analysis of French motherhood in 1927. She was subsequently prosecuted by the French government for promoting neomalthusian (e.g. contraceptive) propaganda; the government’s real agenda, however, was probably anticommunist. Alquier’s denunciation of the statute of motherhood under capitalism clearly reveals the inspiration she and others found in the measures taken in the USSR since the revolution of 1917 to reconcile motherhood with paid labor for women. Alquier’s feminist analysis was further informed by eugenic thinking and by the latest findings of the pronatalist medical community in France, especially those of the physician Dr. Adolphe Pinard.

Clio loves to present historical feminists speaking in their own words. Here is the first part of Alquier’s text, which appeared in 1927 in a periodical published by radical secular schoolteachers.