review: The Cultural Contradictions of Motherhood

Sociologist Sharon Hays’ 1996 book, The Cultural Contradictions of Motherhood, developed the theory that ‘intensive mothering’ - that is, mothering that is ‘child-centered, expert-guided, emotionally absorbing, labour-intensive and financially expensive’ (p 8 and throughout) - is the dominant ideology that governs motherhood in the late twentieth (and also early 21st) centuries. Hays argues that this ideology puts mothers and mothering in direct opposition to the dominant ideology of the marketplace, where ‘rational actors’ competitively pursue their own self-interest in order to maximise both efficiency and profit. Working mothers particularly, Hays argues, are therefore caught in a contradictory double-bind as to how best to balance two seemingly irreconcilable sets of pressures.

What this means is that ‘while the contemporary ideal of intensive mothering involves the subordination of women, it also involves their opposition to the logic which subordinates them ... In pursuing a moral concern to establish lasting human connection grounded in unremunerated obligations and commitments, modern-day mothers, to varying degrees, participate in this implicit rejection of the ethos of rationalized market society.’ (p 18) I think this is a really interesting premise: the logic of capitalism creating within itself the ground for its own opposition (and, perhaps, dismantling?). While articulating the opposition in this way, however, Hays falls short of calling for a transformative politics based on the rejection of the logic of the marketplace. Instead, she focusses on how the ideology of intensive mothering developed, and how mothers themselves continue to perpetuate it, whether they are consciously aware of doing so or not.

The book is structured with three main parts: on overview of historical shifts in parenting and mothering, focussing particularly on the split between the private and public sphere in the 19th century, that led to the development of the ideology of intensive mothering; a review and critique of the work of three leading (i.e. best-selling) childcare experts, Dr Benjamin Spock, T. Berry Brazelton and Penelope Leach, and their role in further defining intensive mothering; and, finally, an analysis of the responses of 38 mothers from a variety of backgrounds to a semi-structured interview questionnaire prepared by Hays and appended at the back of the book. There were some limitations in each approach, which Hays does acknowledge: an overview can only cover historical generalities (and by focussing on the creation of the domestic sphere, it explicitly privileges the experience of white, middle-class women); not everyone buys or reads childcare manuals, and even those who do might take their advice with a grain of salt; and a sample of 38 mothers no matter how diverse is small and, on some variables, one or two individuals would be representing the experiences of whole groups. The mothers also appear to have come from one particular area of the US (San Diego, California), so there is lack of regional and national diversity. Bearing these caveats in mind, however, there are still enough recurring tropes in what Hays uncovers to lend weight to her theory of ‘intensive mothering’ as a cultural contradiction.

I think Hays is largely right in her description of intensive mothering as a contemporary child-rearing ideal, anecdotally evidenced by the differences contemporary parents and grandparents see in their approaches to child-rearing. I’m not sure, however, that her analysis of the cultural contradiction between motherhood and the marketplace is sophisticated enough: it seems too binary, and doesn’t account for other sites of resistance to dominant capitalist narratives, nor work that is not driven primarily by profit. It also ignores the role of mothers as producers and consumers: even if they are full-time stay-at-home mothers, women are also participating in and upholding the capitalist economy. This role has been articulated in both popular books such as Buy Baby Buy and more academic analysis by Marxist feminist critics such as Maria Mies.

Despite these limitations, some of her analysis of mothers’ responses resonated with me. For example, in analysing the responses of working mothers she found that many of them felt that working was not only financially necessary but also justified in terms of ‘making them better mothers’. I was struck by this because I have also described returning to work in this way, not consciously because I wanted to justify myself nor conform to dominant ideals of motherhood, but because I felt it to be true. I think I have personally benefitted from having spent time with other adults and using my other skills, just as I think my daughter has benefitted from spending time with other children in a caring environment, and we all benefitted from the experience and advice of her various carers. 

There’s obviously no knowing whether this is objectively true or not, since we don’t have a parallel experience with which to compare it. Hays in her analysis of this rationale does not judge or criticise the mothers who make this claim. But, interestingly, it does add weight to her theory that even mothers who return to work while their children are young offer reasons for their decision that conform to the ideology of intensive mothering, at least as much as they do to the need to pay the bills. This highlights the point that ideology is not necessarily true or false, or even good or bad; rather it shapes the ways in which we think about things and the ways we describe them and we inhabit them as if they were true. Even those who actively oppose dominant ideologies are still shaping their experience with reference to them, albeit in a negative way.

Particularly in her analysis of the mothers’ interviews, Hays explores how intensive mothering figures in the so-called ‘mommy wars’. She concludes that, no matter which part of this spectrum mothers find themselves on, the ideology of intensive mothering serves the interests of men, the middle-class, and white people (oddly, ‘patriarchy’ or a similar systemic term doesn’t seem to be used much in the book).

Hays is much briefer when it comes to offering solutions to the ways in which the ideology of intensive mothering supports patriarchy and gender inequality. She calls for a second revolution to succeed the ‘stalled revolution’ of second-wave feminism, one which would transform relationships, workplaces, and the wider society. This would not only involve more equal parenting, but also childcare solutions that do not out-source the ‘problem’ to poorly-paid women of colour, further perpetuating social inequalities.  Instead, she argues ‘our best hope for easing women’s burden remains increased public power for women, higher public status for those involved in caregiving, and greater paternal participation in child-rearing.’ (pp 176-77) These inter-related steps, she believes, are likely to result in improved child-rearing policies such as subsidized child-care, job-sharing, flexi-time and parental leave.  Hays acknowledges that these changes are likely to take a long time, and will not completely resolve the tension between the home and the marketplace. Nonetheless, she believes that they will help share the burden equally between men and women.

The fact that this book is now nearly 20 years old and, in the US in particular, change in these areas has been glacial is somewhat depressing and a sign of how much work there still is to do. But even in countries with generous parental leave and flexible work policies, as well as subsidised childcare, it is still primarily women who do most of the childcare, and suffer the kind of motherhood penalties that writers such as Ann Crittenden have identified, albeit to a lesser extent than women in less enlightened countries. Policy changes, then, are only part of the solution; cultural change remains a much more difficult challenge.

things i have learned since 2.31 pm yesterday

That a sense of mastery over your own destiny is illusory at best: things will always happen that are outside your control. A strong shake by the biggest and fiercest of all Mothers is a salutary reminder.

That diving under the nearest table and holding on for dear life seems much less silly and much more ingrained than it used to.

That if you are separated from your loved ones, the first thing you want to do is find them. While knowing our daughter was safe with her carer, our first thought was to leave work and go and collect her.

That walking home uphill after a magnitude 6.6 earthquake while nearly 8 months’ pregnant is slow, tiring progress. Thanks goodness a kind soul offered us a lift home. Otherwise, I could still be walking back.

That people can be very generous: we were not the only ones being offered a lift up the hill, and car pools were organised to get stranded commuters home to various locations around the greater Wellington region.

That the will to normalise is very strong: minutes after the earthquake, while some people were still wild-eyed and shaking, others were making flippant remarks or getting on with plans to get home. After about 24 hours with - touch wood - much smaller aftershocks, my nerves seem to be adjusting much more quickly than they did during the big earthquakes last month.

That maybe there is something to this animal instinct business and pregnancy after all. I don’t have anything to compare it to, but I'm pretty sure my reactions to the earthquake are heightened by the sense of increased vulnerability I feel being pregnant. Weirdly, I have felt more in touch with my animal nature during these episodes than during birth and breastfeeding.

That having a very young child who slept through the quake and hasn’t really noticed most of the aftershocks is probably much easier to deal with than a fearful older child whose imagination is running riot and can’t sleep.

That having a sore bump and lots of foetal wriggling does not necessarily mean early labour, and, even if it did, 33 weeks is way more optimal than 28 weeks.

That outdated advice is still circulating, particularly around sheltering in doorways and the more dangerous ‘triangle of life.’ It’s much much less silly to dive under a table or desk and ‘drop, cover and hold.’

That social media and the internet generally are both a blessing and a curse in times like these: great for circulating messages and information quickly, while freeing up phone lines for emergency calls; not so good for sensationalising - reports of people ‘fleeing’ central Wellington seemed a bit over-the-top to me - and people feeling the need to to outdo each other in the pseudo-sophisticated flippant remarks stakes. 

That there are a number of well-coordinated services and people out there who worked through the strong aftershocks - and continue to work - to try and keep people safe or help them out: emergency services, lines-people, engineers, bus and taxi-drivers, civil defence and emergency management staff, GNS scientists, local and central government officials, and, yes, politicians too. They no doubt have loved ones they wanted to get home to as well, but put their responsibilities to their job and their community first. That is really humbling and I am very grateful.

That this will be a short post: this week, I was halfway through a review of sociologist Sharon Hays’ 1996 book The Cultural Contradictions of Motherhood, but, strangely, didn’t feel like finishing it this weekend. Hopefully, strong aftershocks notwithstanding, normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

by george, she's done it!

I hadn’t planned for my first post in a wee while to be about the royal birth, not least because I’m not a monarchist, and have not been following The Pregnancy with avid interest. Two things, however, made me change my mind. The first is that my last few posts have been on reasonably ‘heavy’ subjects and I thought it was probably time for a change of pace. The second is that The Happy Event occurred about 24 hours after the earthquake I last posted about: news about something as everyday and positive as a new baby suddenly seemed way more appealing than it had previously. It also provided a bit of light relief from constantly refreshing GeoNet or the Wellington Regional Emergency Management Office Facebook page for news.

The coverage of said Happy Event left me pondering a few things about the narratives constructed around pregnancy and birth, both this particular royal birth and births in general:

1) Back in March this year, author Hilary Mantel, who has written bestselling novels involving historical royals, made some fairly conventional remarks to the effect that Kate Middleton’s job was basically to look pretty and breed (although she may have worded it a little more strongly than that). Her point - a minor one in her talk - was about the perception of the Royal Person generated by the tabloid media, but this didn’t prevent her being pilloried by media (both tabloid and some broadsheets) and politicians alike (I mean, really, didn’t Ed Milliband or David Cameron have anything else to do that day? Surely the latter, at least, had benefits to cut, programmes to slash and jobs for the boys to distribute?) 

But, not surprisingly at all, the coverage of Middleton’s middle as it expanded and then of the subsequent birth pretty much conformed exactly to what Mantel said it would: a focus on her looks and body and on all the minutiae of the pregnancy and birth. So, basically, whatever else she may have to offer, Middleton, like other women in the public eye, was reduced to the corporeal, specifically to her reproductive capabilities. Attention was also drawn to the fact that she listed ‘Princess’ as her job on the birth registration form. Nothing like peddling some conservative constructions of womanhood to sell a few papers is there?

2) Having said that, I’m not going to deny that the birth of any baby is special. But, as nurse-academic Ruth de Souza, eloquently writes, I wish ‘we’ treated every baby as if he or she were as special as this baby. De Souza, who formerly worked in a post-natal ward, points out that not all mothers and their children are sentimentalised in the same way and provides some excellent background as to why. I particularly liked her wishes for all new mothers and babies:

• I wish the arrival of every infant in the world was greeted with the same sense of anticipation and enthusiasm as the Royal arrival.
• I wish every mother, infant and family could receive the same “care” as the Royals will.
• I wish “we” cared as much about maternal and infant mortality around the world.
• I wish “we” cared as much about “other” mothers who aren’t supported in their mothering and against whom active measures are taken to regulate and surveil their bodies merely because of the accident of their own circumstances.

I would also be much happier about The Happy Event if it helped trigger greater awareness or debate about these issues. 

3) While the ante-natal vigil on the streets of London by journalists eager to scoop the opposition and press photographers poised to capture the first glimpse of the baby was kind of amusing - ‘our latest report is that there is nothing new to report’ - the post-partum parade of new mother and baby was a little disturbing. I know that a straightforward birth can mean a new mother can go home or be up and about within a short while of delivering a baby, but most get to slope incognito out the hospital door wearing trackpants and a loose t-shirt. 

Not so Princess Kate. 

Instead, she was paraded before the waiting media, hair done, full make-up on, tasteful dress echoing that worn by her deceased mother-in-law in her own post-partum parade. While this was no doubt expected and planned for - that dress was surely no coincidence - one can only hope she was doped up to the eyeballs so as not to feel any of the swelling and pain that even in the best circumstances doesn’t subside until weeks after the birth. I can’t help but feel that this kind of tableau perpetuates the idea that birth is a walk in the park, particularly in countries where both infant and maternal mortality is low, and creates false and unreasonable expectations for new mothers. 

What’s more, some media hacks and twitter trolls, who seem to have little understanding of basic biology, were already scrutinising her post-partum body and finding it wanting: look at that bump she still has! How’s she going to get rid of that?  Kate’s post- pregnancy weight-loss plan! Good lord. While trade in celebrity post-natal weight-loss stories has been going strong for a while now, other celebrity mothers at least seem to get some choice about when and how they participate in this narrative (and get paid for it!) The rest of us just get to feel bad about how we can’t live up to these impossible ideals. Following hard on the heels of this damaging nonsense, however, was a wave of commentary supporting Kate and her bump display, saying that she, at least, was sending a positive message to women and girls that this is what a post-partum body looks like and it’s perfectly OK.

4) Around the world, The Happy Event was celebrated in a range of ways: buildings lit up in blue and read, word spelled out by anonymous bodies on naval ships, commemorative newspaper and magazine covers. In Wellington, the plan was to conduct a 21-gun salute. Yep, that’s right: letting off 21 loud noises from phallic-shaped machines designed to kill people to celebrate something that is virtually the complete opposite. That’s not at all weird. 

What was weird, however, was the decision to go ahead with this ridiculous ceremony a mere day after the city had experienced a pretty strong earthquake, which may not have been deadly but certainly frayed nerves (mine included). Apparently celebrating the birth of a baby 12,000 miles away with a militaristic display was deemed more important than the mental wellbeing of some rattled residents. It’s great to know out city cares. 

Now, I’m not saying that they need even have done something as sensible as not marking The Happy Event at all, but perhaps a more suitable alternative could’ve been found in the circumstances. Releasing 21 balloons, perhaps? (Or even 99?)

5) I have to confess that it would’ve been quite nice if the baby had been a girl (and I'm not alone in this one either). Not, I hasten to add, because I have anything at all against boy babies. I’m aware that the laws governing the royal succession were changed to specify that either a boy or girl would inherit the throne before the gender of the baby was known. While this may have positively impacted other members of the aristocracy, a number of Commonwealth states, of which the British monarch is still the titular head, decided to opt for a wait-and-see approach. This means that their succession laws still specify that a male heir needs to inherit the throne, and this in turn impacts on the coming into force of the British law i.e. despite the law change, until all 15 Commonwealth countries who have the monarch as their head of state change their laws it's in no way a done deal. The arrival of a boy ensures that primogeniture - one of the ribs making up the skeleton of patriarchy - survives for another generation, at least. 

Kind of like the new Dr Who, in a way.

But in spite of all that, I wish you good luck new royal parents and baby: a newborn baby is  precious, but also hard work. I’m sure the privileges you enjoy will ease some of that, but then I expect the downside is that, as your baby grows up, you will continue to be publicly scrutinised, idealised and perhaps even condemned for your parenting in a way that most of us are not.