Back Home and Back to Nature? Natural Parenting and Religion in Francophone Contexts

2.1 Defining Natural Parenting through Its Practices

As already mentioned in the introduction and as acknowledged by other scholars, ^[20] whereas some scholarship has examined specific aspects and practices of natural parenting (see the references given in section 1), few studies in the social sciences and even fewer in religious studies have researched natural parenting from a more comprehensive standpoint. This section of the article thus aims to provide a description of natural parenting in the contexts surveyed for this research (see note 16 and the introductory section), as well as some initial reflections. The following list is based on data from the interviews and from the analysis of materials collected over the course of the broader research from which this article presents selected aspects.

The following practices, preferences, or marked interests are commonly found and implemented, to various extents, in families who practice natural parenting:

1. A preference for non-hormonal or fertility awareness-based methods of contraception;

2. A preference for complementary or alternative medicines and drugs (e.g. naturopathy, homeopathy), a holistic approach to health and well-being in general, and a questioning or criticism of some of the systematic protocols of Western biomedicine (e.g. vaccine hesitancy, writing a birth plan in the case of a hospital birth);

3. A preference for midwifery care during pregnancy, with medical interventions limited to what is regarded as necessary, and options for “natural birth” (e.g. in a midwife-led birth center) or, when medically possible and in line with the mother’s wishes, homebirth;

4. Breastfeeding (often on demand and “full-term” up until what is regarded as “natural weaning”), including through the help of technologies or accessories (breast pump and feeding breast milk through devices such as cups or special bottles);

5. Alternative pedagogy and schooling (e.g. homeschooling and unschooling; private or cooperative schools inspired by Waldorf-Steiner or Montessori teachings; positive discipline and a rejection of ordinary educative violence);

6. Attention to diet (often flexitarian and vegetarian ones), marked by a strong preference for seasonal, local, fair trade, and organic products (or, alternatively, the production of one’s own food through gardening);

7. A preference for homemade (meals, objects, remedies, cleaning products, cosmetics, etc.) or second-hand goods; a leaning towards lifestyles of voluntary simplicity or, at least, some attention paid to ethical or minimalist consumption, with an awareness of the environmental impact of one’s choices; a preference for reusable items (typically washable diapers, menstrual cups or cloth menstrual pads);

8. Other practices that center on the needs of the baby or child (e.g. baby-led weaning, baby-led introduction to new foods, natural infant’s hygiene or “diaper-free” potty training).

In addition to these practices, all of the key tenets of attachment parenting (discussed below) are also regularly practiced. These include bonding, babywearing, keeping close proximity with the child through co-sleeping, etc.

In their own contexts, practitioners of natural parenting select these options among a range of other possible choices (e.g. regular public school vs. private school with a specific pedagogy, regular vs. organic food, babywearing vs. using a stroller, hospital vs. home birth, bottle feeding vs. breastfeeding). Though some discourses pit them against each other, many of these options are not necessarily antagonistic. Many parents whom I interviewed combine them to some extent, though there might be a preference for one over the other, at least ideally. Flexibility is not only admissible, but often a reality of practice. Over the course of my research, I never met with a parent who stated to have consistently and at all times implemented each one of the practices listed above. For instance, mothers stated that they would occasionally use disposable diapers, purchase industrial (though preferably organic) baby food, or use a stroller in addition to a baby-wearing wrap.

The above-mentioned preferences thus are regarded as typical, albeit optional, components of this modular style of parenting, and not as a set of fixed, mandatory practices. Moreover, while most of the parents I interviewed and whose conversations I read online embrace this label, especially in their own specialized online spaces, others strongly reject it. While still implementing many of the practices listed above, not all self-identify with the label “natural parenting” or, in French, “les mamans nature” (one of the several designations). Furthermore, some of these practices are not “options” everywhere in the world: for instance, using washable diapers or no diapers at all in contexts where disposable ones are not available does not qualify as participating in natural parenting as discussed in this article. In addition, as a minority of the mothers whom I interviewed also acknowledged, socio-economic groups in the same society have different constraints when it comes to birth choices or child-rearing: one mother mentioned that the upfront expense of a pack of washable diapers might indeed be unaffordable to some families. In France, due to higher costs not being covered by health insurance plans or because of administrative issues, some mothers could not afford the homebirth that they wanted.

Contemporary natural parenting draws extensively from attachment parenting (based on theories developed in works such as those by William and Martha Sears, ^[21] or John Bowlby ^[22]). Natural parenting shares many of the recommended practices of attachment parenting, such as bonding after birth through skin-to-skin contact, breastfeeding, babywearing, and family bed sharing or co-sleeping. The attachment parenting model has risen to prominence in North America and has been criticized from a feminist perspective. ^[23] It is less widespread in most francophone contexts, with perhaps the exception of Quebec. In spite of media often picturing them together and thus conflating both trends, natural parenting does not completely overlap with attachment parenting. A mother can have an elective C-section, use disposable diapers, buy (too many) plastic toys that potentially contain harmful chemicals, and eat large quantities of meat from conventional agriculture and still meet the definition of an “attachment parent.” Those who identify with or have some interest for natural parenting are more likely to make their own organic baby food or purchase second-hand toys. Most of the parents whom I interviewed in francophone contexts add this environmentalist dimension to attachment parenting. Some of them, but not all, do so out of a belief that doing their share in protecting the environment participates in a system of morality that they voluntarily contribute to: this idea of personal responsibility through ethical consumption in the domestic sphere and in family life, on a daily basis, participates in the religious dimension of natural parenting, as I will discuss below (see 2.2).

The intersection of two key influences marks natural parenting as different from other types of parenting, though with many coinciding practices: attachment parenting is central, and a strong environmentalist dimension is explicit in natural parenting. Natural parenting is distinct from other, more widespread modes of parenting that better correspond to social and cultural norms where they are practiced. Moreover, the work and experiences of parents, especially mothers, who engage in natural parenting shape their identities and transform them as individuals. For these reasons, natural parenting can be considered as a form of identity parenting. ^[24] In their own cultural contexts, many of the choices listed above are those of a minority, regarded as uncommon, marginalized, and sometimes categorized as undesirable and often the target of criticism (as discussed in section 4 of this article). Certain practices, especially homebirth, even encounter hostility from medical professionals, media, relatives, and society in general. ^[25] Mothers who speak openly about their choices turn to online platforms to find generally benevolent and often partially anonymous communities that offer support and advice that their immediate friends and relatives cannot provide. ^[26]

2.2 Defining Natural Parenting through Its Underlying Values and Worldviews

Natural parenting offers a holistic worldview that provides a coherent framework for extremely diverse practices in domains ranging from fertility management to food choices and health practices. Beyond the combined influence of attachment parenting and environmentalist discourses, highlighted above (see sections 2 and 3section 2.1), a critical analysis of discourses and images reveals the driving values of natural parenting that translate in efforts at the individual level, through changes in lifestyle and conscious consumption choices. These crystallize in three sites with blurred and often overlapping boundaries: nature or the environment, home or more generally the notion of proximity, and embodiment. All have established or emerging spiritual or religious dimensions, which advocates or detractors, and sometimes both, contribute to constructing.

3.1 Natural Family Planning and Fertility Awareness-based Methods of Contraception

Natural family planning developed in the 1960s, in mostly Roman Catholic environments, for and by people for whom the use of hormonal or barrier methods of contraception were out of the question after the Encyclical Humanae Vitae by Pope Paul VI. ^[62] The doctors John (1918-2007) and Evelyn (1918-2013) Billings, key developers one of the now multiple fertility awareness-based methods, based on observing cervical mucus, were Roman Catholics. In an article retracing the “life and times of John J. Billings,” with only a few references to his wife Evelyn’s contributions, Charles Norris writes: “A life-long Catholic with a strong faith, John could not believe that God had left humanity without a harmless natural method of controlling fertility.” ^[63] One of John Billings’ last publications was entitled “A Story of God’s Providence.” ^[64] In 1969, and then again in 2003, John Billings received recognition for his work by Popes Paul VI and John Paul II.

For several decades, what was known as “natural family planning” remained taught mostly in religious circles to heterosexual couples, married or engaged, as the rest of society embraced hormonal (and other forms of) contraception after its legalization. During the second half of the 20th century, attitudes towards contraception and its availability changed drastically, for instance in Quebec after the Quiet Revolution (la révolution tranquille). Though hormonal and mechanical contraception remains the norm, more women and couples have become interested in fertility awareness in recent years. Beyond its originally Christian and mostly Catholic circles, many natural parents consider fertility awareness-based methods as a valid contraceptive option, even when their regular health practitioners do not. In my research, none of the couples who did use such methods stated that they did so out of the desire to comply with the official teachings of their Church or religion. Instead, many emphasized the idea of self-knowledge (cognitive purposes of fertility awareness), respect of the body (avoiding the side effects of hormones) and of nature (considerations about the environmental impact of hormonal contraception, for instance, as residues in water). ^[65]

Fertility awareness-based methods remain linked to Catholicism in many francophone countries. In a broadcast by the francophone Swiss television ^[66] about women who decide to stop taking the Pill, a 27-year-old explains how she monitors her fertility with the connected thermometer Daysy. Sharing about the reactions of others during her first few months of use of this high-tech device, she states: “The temperature method sounds like very old-fashioned, a little bit catho[lic]! I do not self-identify with such adjectives.” Recently, physicians and feminists alike have expressed their skepticism against fertility awareness-based methods of contraception, all lumped together without any analysis of their efficiency according to the Pearl index. For instance, the French national federation of colleges for medical gynecology released a press statement alerting on “natural contraceptive methods” and stating: “From the temperature curve to assessing mucus and withdrawal for man, these so-called natural methods make us come far back in time.” ^[67] Without mentioning the specific name of the application “Natural Cycles,” the press statement mentions the fact that 37 women sought an abortion at a hospital in Stockholm after allegedly relying on a smartphone application for monitoring fertility.

In spite of its digitalization, fertility awareness is still regarded as a thing from a past in which women had no other valid option, or as tied to a conservatism that affords women no room for personal agency and decisions. In many media and popular discourses, “the Pill” represents modernity and the “liberation of women” for a certain generation of feminists (mostly second wave, white, middle-class women). This going “back” to methods presented as “natural,” a highly contentious term, is framed as reminiscent of a time when religions still had a strong impact on peoples’ sexual lives. The voices of a minority within francophone feminism ^[68] that challenge prevailing contraceptive models do not speak from an explicitly religious position and still strongly support rights to access contraception and abortion.

3.2 Natural Childbirth Movements

The early movements for “natural childbirth” are another example of the religious roots of natural parenting. Few studies uncover aspects and retrace the history of the influence of religion on these pregnancy and childbirth practices presented in their own time as alternatives to or as in resistance against a “technocratic model” ^[69] or that of “the body as a machine.” ^[70] Some of the early key figures in the movements for childbirth without the systematic use of analgesia were tied to specific religious movements, but these links are rarely central in the analysis. In anglophone contexts, Grantley Dick-Read (1890-1959) has been described as “fired by an evangelical faith in the spiritual significance of motherhood,” ^[71] in line with “his eccentric emphasis on spiritual motherhood and anti-technological rhetoric.” ^[72] More influential in francophone contexts is Frédérick Leboyer (1918-2017), who lived in India for some time and he became the disciple of the Hindu Swami Prajnandpad (1891-1974). The influence of this contact with India, its traditions and spiritualities is visible in Leboyer’s work, for instance in his promotion of “Shantala Massage.” ^[73] A few of my informants said that they regularly give their babies massages, a practice gaining growing popularity in natural parenting circles, and some took courses in order to learn the proper techniques. Similarly, Leboyer’s emphasis on “birth without violence” probably owes to the concept of ahimsa (non-violence) from a Hindu perspective. Another example is that of Ina May Gaskin (b. 1940), one of the most influential figures of the “natural childbirth” movement. Marianne Delaporte has recently documented the cultural context of the philosophies, systems of beliefs, and practices around childbirth attended by midwives on the commune known as The Farm. ^[74] In the work of Ina May Gaskin, rationality, biomedicine, and science all have room alongside spirituality. Her book, entitled Spiritual Midwifery (1975), “integrated (…) the spiritual beliefs of the religious commune in which she lived and where she still works” ^[75] and obstetrical medical knowledge. Her midwifery manual, produced in the larger framework of the “hippie movement,” has a clearly theological framework based on a “belief system developed within the 1960s counterculture” ^[76] and she saw birth not only as a biological experience, but as a spiritual one as well.

3.3 Breastfeeding Advocacy: La Leche League

Finally, La Leche League is another example that speaks to the religious roots of a key practice in both attachment parenting and natural parenting. This breastfeeding advocacy group was originally founded in 1956 by a group of seven Catholic mothers in an American context where breastfeeding mothers could not expect medical or social support for their decision not to feed their babies with formula. The institutional developments, discourses, and now worldwide influence of La Leche League constitute another example of how religion in practice extends to domains of everyday life, including very private and intimate ones, such as infant feeding. Jule DeJager Ward (2000) explored “at the crossroads of medicine, feminism, and religion” the early history and development of this breastfeeding advocacy league, as well as its theological underpinnings. From an originally grassroots association, founded with the purpose to educate and support mothers who chose to breastfeed, La Leche League has grown over the years into an organization with several million members all around the world, including many who are not Catholics. In her study, Jule DeJager Ward shows how in spite of gradually distancing itself from explicit references to its religious roots and expressions of a faith-based notion of maternal identity and practices, La Leche League has kept a strong articulation of Catholic social thought while incorporating specific currents within feminism and scientific discourses and ideologies as well.

3.4 References to Religion: Personal, Political, Spiritual and Ritual Choices

One of the key questions in the broader research on which this contribution is based was what happens to these references to religion or spirituality, originally in predominantly anglophone contexts when, several decades later, practices typical of natural parenting, like home birth or specific modes of breastfeeding, are practiced in francophone and mostly secularized environments. In her study of “holistic mothering” and, particularly, of homebirth in Portugal, Anna Fedele advises that scholars should pay more attention to the “religious dimensions of alternative mothering choices.” ^[77] Fedele argues that the medicalization of childbirth in Portugal is so important that holistic mothering and options alternative to hospital birth have become a personal and political choice. There, and in other contexts, such choice often grows out of a spiritual worldview. While it is nowadays often associated with “Goddess spirituality” or spiritualities of the “sacred feminine” in Portugal, as documented by Fedele, and in many anglophone contexts as well, this was rarely the case in the francophone contexts I studied. Though rarely mentioned explicitly, these early developments in specific religious environments still contribute to the association of natural parenting with religion, spirituality (especially “New Age” or cult milieu), or both, often in a negative light.

In spite of the mostly North American or anglophone religious roots and spiritual components still at work in some movements centered around specific practices of natural parenting, the attitude of the parents I interviewed towards religion, spirituality, and secularism was quite different. Most tended not to associate natural parenting with religion, in contrast with the discourses and images found in French media (see the next section for an analysis). Are these parents’ stance towards religion similar to that of the American participants to “sacred pregnancy” retreats studied by Duncan and defined as living “in the Age of the Nones”? ^[78] Do they also regard pregnancy and childbirth as occasions for ritualizations that call for community support and for the making of spiritual meaning? During the interviews, the majority of my informants self-identified as “atheists,” “agnostics,” or “non-believers.” Only a few of the mothers and fathers self-identified as religious or spiritual. Some were “believers” without being active members of any institution. For most of them, religion had not much to do in their parenting practices, yet many acknowledged environmentalist ideals, such as the notion of moral responsibility towards the earth and other humans. Some also mentioned that the notion of respect, central to many of their choices, was found in “all religions.”

Less than one in four of my interviewees self-identified with a specific religion, ^[79] but several said they were “non-practicing Christians.” Others mentioned their Catholic upbringing that they had taken distance from, though remaining attached to certain values and customs that they wanted to transmit to their children. Most of them did not actively reject the existence of God or the divine, but believed in some form of a higher power and regarded having a spiritual life and some degree of ritualization around birth as acceptable or even desirable. Very few of them, however, had actively organized their own pregnancy or birth rituals, but those who had did regard such occasions as very important and as aligned with other practices in their lives that they mentioned when I asked them if they had religious or spiritual practices. These included well-being practices that engage the body and the mind, such as meditation or westernized forms of yoga, as well as participation in red tents and women’s circles. Examples of ritualization after birth included “placenta prints” and “placenterre.” ^[80] Moreover, celebrations within the extended family were not uncommon (for instance, marking the passing of seasons, celebrating religious and cultural holidays such as Christmas, Carnival, or Easter, even for non-believers).

Their discourses emphasized a new consciousness of the maternal body and of the self. Alternatively, as was the case for many of my atheist and agnostic French informants, they also sometimes ascribed moral value to the practices that they framed as eco-friendly or sustainable (such as abstaining from eating meat, or buying second-hand clothing). Most of their daily practices fit into the description of lifestyles of health and sustainability, with their key ethical and, by extension, spiritual dimensions, as highlighted by Monica Emerich in her study of such trends towards a “gospel of sustainability.” ^[81] Combining a culture, a variety of movements and discourses and a marketplace for products and services, lifestyles of health and sustainability (LOHAS), often are compatible with lifestyles of voluntary simplicity: they emphasize personal (rather than only public) responsibility as a conscious consumer and implementing values through personal or familial choices and everyday practices (e.g. choices in diet, healthcare, but also sexuality, etc.). Also key in these lifestyles are mindful and wise uses of natural resources, and striving to avoid further polluting the planet and damaging the environment. Just like in the case of LOHAS, if natural parenting and its practices are not essentially religious or spiritual per se, our usual methodologies and concepts in religious studies remain useful to make sense of this cluster of practices and values.

While distancing themselves from religions as institutions and traditions, the parents whom I interviewed and whose conversations I followed still sought to give meaning in ethical and moral terms to their daily life choices, including those concerning their children. Environmentalism and the notion of proximity (see above, 2.2.3) leading to a belief in the interconnectedness between humans and the Earth provided a spiritual framework for some of them. Yet, none of my francophone informants considered “Nature” as divine or even as sacred. The notion of “Mother Nature” or references to figures such as the Pachamama or Gaia were not prominent in their discourses. The few parents who did have a more institutional practice, or one more rooted in a specific tradition, stressed how their parenting practices were compatible or aligned with their religious beliefs. For instance, this was the case of a mother in my study who self-identified as Muslim: she mentioned breastfeeding as valued and prescribed as a religious duty in Islam.

The self-perception and mention of religious or spiritual elements by natural parents themselves stands in contrast with how they are represented in francophone and mostly French media that echo and amplify a widespread criticism against natural parenting and trends that associate women with a “going back to nature” alongside with a suspicious return of religion. Such criticism is examined in the following section.

4.1 Interview with Odile Buisson and Cartoons in Charlie Hebdo

An interview published by the satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo and its cartoon illustrations constitute the core of the first case study. ^[86] Related materials also include another interview with French gynecologist Dr Odile Buisson, as well as her book published shortly before these interviews. Obviously, as part of this literary genre, a satirical magazine is expected to produce cartoons mocking specific categories of people. Furthermore, the tradition of misrepresenting midwives is not new. However, beyond the irony and exaggeration of satire, the interview and images analyzed here in detail reflect rather common opinions towards alternative choices for childbirth in France and attitudes towards mothers and parents who make such choices.

The interview published online on April 11, 2013, featured Dr Odile Buisson, a French gynecologist most famous for her pioneering work on women’s sexual pleasure. She is the author of the book Sale temps pour les femmes, Futures mères, si vous saviez (a title with a pun that can be translated as: “Bad weather/bad time for women. Future mothers, if you knew…”). Published by a non-academic press, her book and ideas were relayed in mainstream media and in magazines targeting readerships beyond women or medical professionals. In her book, and in the Charlie Hebdo interview, Buisson criticizes both the industrialization of women’s healthcare and the midwifery model of care. She represents here a typical voice of authoritative, medical, scientifically grounded knowledge. In this interview (and in her book), she argues that the government is trying to save money on women’s health by pushing for giving midwives more responsibilities, some of which she regards as beyond their level of competence. ^[87]

The interview features cartoons mocking several actors of alternative or “natural” childbirth movements that participate in the natural parenting trends discussed in this article. In one of the images, both the parents who choose midwifery care and the midwife are the targets of criticism. The image depicts a woman apparently awaiting a medical act to take place, lying on her back in supine position, with her feet tied up with cords (and not in stirrups) which, typically, would be avoided as much as possible in natural birth (or more generally midwifery) practice. The midwife is portrayed as a filthy woman who spits in her hands in order to clean them. She wears a headscarf and clogs. Her appearance resembles that of a peasant, rural woman, thus suggesting backwardness. The image also conveys the idea of unsanitary conditions, with what appears as an open market stall, and the presence of animals. Nevertheless, the pig and the chicken (farm animals) in the image wear surgical masks to signal that a medical intervention is expected to take place. In a sense, these animals appear as more hygienic than the midwife. The sterile surgical instruments typical of hospital childbirth are replaced by rudimentary tools, in a bucket.

Religious practice is suggested through the presence in the background of a voodoo doll pierced by three pins. This object associates further midwifery to witchcraft. Incidentally, several francophone activists in the field of “respected childbirth,” such as Marie-Hélène Lahaye, use the expression “la chasse aux sorcières” (witch hunt) to refer to the administrative complexities and antagonist discourses targeting liberal, independent midwives in France, in particular those still serving women in homebirths. ^[88] As explained above, in France, more so than in other francophone countries, choosing a homebirth is heavily frowned upon both by the medical establishment and by popular opinion. ^[89]

The cartoon also casts doubts about the competence of the midwife: “Are you sure she is competent?” asks the pregnant woman tied up to the examination table. Referral is not sanctioned by a diploma or by medical authorities, but through hearsay: the midwife was “recommended at the organic market,” her partner replies. This image and the general tone of the interview ridicule midwives and the parents who choose alternative options for childbirth. Such choices are portrayed as irrational, anti-technological, unhygienic, dangerous and, generally, backwards. Furthermore, if the option for a vast majority of women in France is that of a hospital birth, with the availability and, in most cases, the use of an epidural, ^[90] alternative choices, such as homebirth but also several forms of “natural birth” –whichever meanings are ascribed to them— are negatively associated with religion. So are other practices of pregnancy and postpartum popular among natural parents in France and other francophone countries.

In the same interview, Buisson evokes her visit to a maison de naissance (a midwife-led birth center), which are very few in France:

What do I see on the walls? Advertisements for holistic massage, lucky charms (gris-gris), essential oils. So, of course, this does not hurt, but well… Every time medicine retreats, rescinds, quacks arrive. And this goes very well with liberalism. Because false sciences are not reimbursed. […] I have seen that there were babywearing workshops. Am I dreaming? When you are in a public maternity ward, there are no such things. ^[91]

Even an increasingly common practice, such as babywearing, typical not only to natural parenting but recommended as a bonding practice in attachment parenting, is regarded as suspicious and as not belonging to a maternity ward in a public hospital. In the typically French understanding of secularism, the space of a public hospital should be free from any religious symbols, including those of “New Age” practices that often include a preference for alternative systems of healing (massage, other forms of bodywork, essential oils, etc.).

In another cross-interview, published in Le Figaro Madame a few days before the one in Charlie Hebdo, Buisson confronts a liberal midwife. On the topic of independent maisons de naissance (midwife-led birth centers) that are not attached to or within a hospital ward, Buisson says the following:

I hate closed locations that prevent links between the different professionals. I clearly prefer physiological poles. ^[92] These allow real exchanges between gynecologists and midwives. They constitute a safeguard against proselytism, religiosity and other fake sciences. ^[93]

Home birth is not even mentioned in the interview, but the confrontational dialogue ends with very opposing views on the availability and actual use, or coercion to use, the epidural.

Another one of the cartoons illustrating Dr Buisson’s interview in Charlie Hebdo, is worth analyzing here in detail from a perspective in religious studies. The image features a crucified woman about to give birth, bare breasts, and with her large belly highly visible. She is wearing a loincloth that hides her genitals. In contrast, is it not uncommon to find representations of male and female genitals in other cartoons in Charlie Hebdo that are explicit (if not anatomically accurate). The woman is also wearing a crown of thorns. The religious reference is that of the suffering Christ on the cross. Before becoming the symbol of Christianity, the cross had long been used as an instrument of torture in Antiquity. Consistently with the Biblical narrative of Genesis (3:16), childbirth is associated with pain. In childbirth, pain is frequently linked to suffering and, in this case with the woman on the cross, to torture, a form of unnecessary and undesirable suffering. The woman says: “It seems that, to give birth, one must suffer a little bit.” At the foot of the cross on what appears to be a hilltop, medical staff wearing their typical outfits and positioning their hands as in prayer, reply: “Push, M’am.” The traditional “INRI” sign (Iesus Nazarethus Rex Iudeorum, meaning Jesus of Nazareth King of the Jews) is replaced by a mock-Latin language sign that reads: “Peridurala satanica” or satanic epidural. Many of my interviewees and mothers whose online conversations I analyzed as part of my broader study, much more often than a homebirth, wished for themselves an epidural-free childbirth. In this case, the criticism against “doing without” medicalization extends to those who reject the use of this type of analgesia.

4.2 Reviews of Movies on Homebirth

The second case study illustrating how media reports on choices typical of natural parenting comprises several reviews of recent documentaries on “natural childbirth” (rarely including any critical discussion of such terminology) or homebirth. Several of the mothers I interviewed told me about such movies, had watched them, and found them inspiring. Though the following discussion focuses only on the reviews, my analysis also considered the anonymous online comments, positive or negative, posted as responses to the negative reviews of such movies.

The movie Loba (2015, directed by Catherine Béchard, an osteopath) follows women, parents, families, midwives and other medical practitioners in Spain, France, Cuba, and Mexico. It interrogates the notion of a “normal childbirth,” the norm of hospital birth and its medicalization, as well as women’s education about, and agency in, the process of birth. It also includes a discussion of traditional spiritual and ritual practices around pregnancy and childbirth. Adding to a strand of criticism against the over-medicalization of birth, the movie advocates for choice and depicts homebirth in a positive light. Such a position was likely to be misunderstood in France: shortly after the release of the movie, a review in Le Monde was entitled “Loba: yet another propaganda film for home birth.” Journalist Isabelle Régnier writes:

The homebirth propaganda documentary is about to become a genre in itself. Every year, there is a new one in French movie theaters to glorify this practice, [that is] extremely minority in France. Covered, like others, by a “new age” varnish of a fantasized return to nature, this one is not better at dissimulating its reactionary ideology, where the essentialization of maternity, of femininity goes along with a massive denial of the progress made over the past century by obstetrical medicine. ^[94]

Régnier is correct in stating that homebirth is “extremely minority” in France. ^[95] She associates “New Age” to the movie, homebirth, and, by extension, to those involved in both the documentary and the practice of homebirth. She highlights a form of essentialism at work in some discourses: essentialism, the danger of reducing woman to nature and to her biology through advocating for or just using the concept of “natural” in connection with “the maternal” (whether in birth, breastfeeding, or other) is indeed a dangerous trap that many in the natural childbirth movements are well aware of. Later in the article, Régnier also writes of the dangers of representing a “mystical relationship to motherhood.” She associates remote areas, like Cuba and rural places in Mexico, where parts of the documentary were filmed, to “living in the Middle Ages.” This association with the Middle Ages and, implicitly, with obscurantism and backwardness, is negative. She calls onto the figure of an “Exotic Other,” distant from the (imagined mostly white) women who birth in hospitals with the help of medical technology and, especially, the epidural.

In her review, Régnier identifies a trend in documentaries challenging medical models of birth, questioning the systematic use of epidurals and comparing the rates of C-sections between countries. Without naming them, she probably refers to two previous movies on similar topics, released in this same francophone context. The first is Entre leurs mains (“Between their hands,” 2013, by Céline Darmayan) which focuses on the professional difficulties of midwives in France, and the other is L’arbre et le Nid (“The tree and the nest,” 2013, by Valérie Pouyanne). The latter features interviews with key childbirth educators, midwives, and obstetricians, such as Michel Odent. The subtitle reads: “les vertus de l’accouchement naturel et les secrets des hormones de l’amour” (“the virtues of natural childbirth and the secrets of love hormones”).

A brief and skeptical review of L’arbre et le nid, published online, also uses the vocabulary of religious evangelism and propaganda:

Whom does this documentary by Valérie Pouyanne address, that ardently defends natural childbirth, with giving too many details that cause nausea? Without any great cinematographic qualities, L’arbre et le nid reveals itself as standing at the crossroads between an infomercial for a birth center and pamphlet against the epidural. For sure, we do not doubt the sincerity and good faith of the birthers, the midwives, and the gynecologists who sing the praises of homebirth, but the whole [movie] so much gives the impression of demonizing birth in hospital settings that it provokes unease and anger. With such a perfect tool of propaganda, it is likely that L’arbre et le nid preaches only to the choir (ne prêche qu’aux convertis) and sustains all of the clichés of those who prefer physicians to midwives. ^[96]

These recent movies do not directly promote homebirth, but are perceived as tools for preaching a form of “gospel of natural childbirth” that will reach only those who already believe in it. The reviews do not read them as spreading information and choice for women, educating about respected birth, and denouncing obstetrical violence, just like other movies centering on anglophone contexts (especially the USA). ^[97]

The notion of an “Exotic Other,” distant from us either in space or in time is present in the discourses of detractors and advocates of natural parenting. It is particularly visible in discourses about or against “natural” childbirth. In the documentary Loba, the viewer travels as far as Cuba and Mexico to witness birth “undisturbed” by medical interventions. The movie conveys the idea that positive attitudes and outcomes for birth could still be achieved not because of, but in spite of the medical settings of the hospital, not thanks to technology itself, but in spite of its misuses and abuses. A figure of the “Exotic Other” as a feminine birthing, breastfeeding, and parenting form of Jean-Jacque Rousseau’s “noble savage” emerges in these and other movies, as well as in many non-professionally produced videos of women sharing stories about their birthing experience on video-sharing websites, and in the criticism against these movies on natural birth and homebirth.

For advocates of homebirth, this figure is positive: she is a model and an inspiration of how to find meaning in “natural” processes such as childbirth, that also retain a sacred or spiritual dimension made visible through ritualization of specific gestures. Contrastingly, for those who criticize birth outside of institutional, medical settings, as in the Charlie Hebdo’s cartoons and in the film reviews, allusions to this “Exotic Other” are quite negative, which is common in French media. Again, the link to belief, superstition, and magic contributes to the negative criticism. The cartoon with the midwife features a voodoo doll which ties the practice of midwifery to witchcraft, though not necessarily a European one. The voodoo doll pierced with needles is generally associated with the religious culture and ritual practices of Haiti, with African roots. In one of her interviews, Buisson speaks against the alleged presence in the midwife-led birthing center of “gris-gris,” generally small objects used as “lucky charms,” often for protection, and often associated with Caribbean cultures and religions. When not remote from us in space, then this “Exotic Other” can also be found in the past: for instance in the notion of “going back to the fifties” in the title of Charlie Hebdo’s interview. Régnier’s mention, in her review of Loba, of the “Middle Ages” and of an alleged negation of a hundred years of medical progress hints to a relapse to a pre-technological, pre-modern and pre-rational world.

While notions of “going back to the past” or “returning to nature” are negative for those who criticize natural parenting and practices, the discourse of many natural parents turn this into a positive reference to a time when some forms of technology were not yet available and did not obscure aspects of birth and parenting that they regard as sacred. What Robbie Davis-Floyd described as the “holistic paradigm” is still relevant to make sense of the frameworks in which such discourses operate, in spite of most parents not identifying strongly with religion or spirituality:

The holistic paradigm also insists on the participation of the spirit in the human whole. In incorporating soul into the healing process, holistic healers bring medicine back into the world of the spiritual and the metaphysical from which it was separated during the Industrial Revolution. The spirituality of holistic healers tends to be fluid, and to take the form of a loose identification with eastern or New Age philosophies more often than with Judaism, Christianity, or Islam. Where the technomedical model is rigid and separatist, the holistic model recognizes no sharp divisions or distinct boundaries.” ^[98]

Whether this “Other” is located in a distant past or in a distant space, or both, a construction is at work and it involves religion or even magic as systems of beliefs and practices in opposition to, on the one hand, the valuation of science and technology, and, on the other hand, to the most common strands of feminism in highly secularized francophone contexts.