13 What to Expect When You’re Expecting Catastrophic Climate Change – Fertility, Family, and Eco-Reproductive Futures

Natalie Blanton, PhD

      In 2022 the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change determined society will pass the threshold of a stable climate within 20 years, undermining the conditions that support humanity. In that same year, Roe V. Wade was overturned, ending the right to access safe and legal abortion in the United States. It is anticipated that this ruling will lead to an increase in births (Jeltsen,2022). What does this mean then for “choice” and “cost of living” in a nation of forced birth, with dwindling access to a healthy environment? What does the future hold?

The effects of environmental degradation and climate change are far from equally distributed (Beck, 2009; Beck, 2019; Pellow, 2007). Meanwhile, the World Health Organization (2022) has warned that 90% of the global population is regularly exposed to air pollution, threatening human health, and has been linked to negative outcomes in pregnancy, gestation, and delivery (Jorgenson et al., 2020; Leiser et al., 2019). These conditions create anxiety regarding our collective trajectory, threatening the very building block of society, reproduction.

Historically, people have made decisions about their fertility in relation to the health of their environment. Indigenous communities have known for generations that during a bad crop year or low rainfall, perhaps it was wise to alter fertility intentions and use plant knowledge to practice abortion care safely and sacredly. Feudal serfs sought contraceptive care from midwives, during times of plague or famine to preserve resources (Chollet, 2022; Federici, 2004). In Chitwan Valley, Nepal a study of the rural community found that when environmental degradation is perceived as a threat, contraceptive use rises (Ghimire & Mohai, 2005).

Having children in the sea of future anxiety has recently captured media attention: “The women too scared of climate change to have children” (BBC, 2019), “Children will bear the brunt of climate change impacts” (Harvey, 2019), and “Does climate change mean I can’t have kids?” (Szalay, 2018). A study by Morning Consult found that a third of young people indicated that climate change concern was a major factor influencing their family planning decisions (Miller, 2018). Social movements like BirthStrike out of the UK made up of those who have “decided not to procreate in response to the coming ‘climate breakdown and civilization collapse’” and US-based organization Conceivable Future collect testimonies of people grappling with this hard decision.

Environmental Reproductive Justice

Reproductive justice articulates bodily autonomy, the right to safe contraceptive choices and abortion (the right not to have children), and the right to have children and raise them in healthy and safe environments (SisterSong, 2022). Women of color illuminate the limited access that marginalized communities have had to their bodies, while white feminist movements prioritize choice and birth control without recognizing the intersectionality and compounded oppression of these issues. While access to care is crucial, it is vital to keep in mind these broader, all-encompassing aims of a justice movement to recognize and protect the desired reproductive trajectories for poor women, women of color, and all people with the capacity for pregnancy.

Environmental and reproductive justice are inextricably linked. There have been widespread documented disrupted fertility cycles in human and wildlife populations following oil spills and industrial waste and runoff (Klein, 2014). Individuals experience higher infertility rates, miscarriages, and congenital disabilities, especially in frontline communities with African American and Native American populations living near oil, gas, and fracking sites. Sasser (2006, p. 63) stresses that these “embodied environmental crises in women’s reproductive health” are linked to global climate change and environmental pollution and are often overlooked in “mainstream framings of population and climate.”

Eco-Reproduction

Every human has a carbon footprint and generates an environmental legacy, given dependence on resources such as water, food, and energy to live (Helm et al., 2021, Pimentel et al., 1994). What that footprint and legacy are, in pollution or enhancing environmental conditions, is heavily shaped by historical, social, and economic conditions, which also influence inequalities within and between nations. Some scholars calculate that every child born compounds that legacy and increases output, indicating that reproductive decisions have intergenerational environmental implications, and that, in a developed country, having one fewer child is the most impactful activity an individual can do to reduce their footprint (Andrijevic & Streissnig, 2017; Helm et al., 2021: 110; Wynes & Nicholas. 2017).

Schneider-Mayerson and Leong (2020) surveyed 607 U.S.-Americans, self-identified environmentalists, finding 59.8% of their respondents were “very” or “extremely concerned” about the carbon intensity of procreation, 96.5% of respondents were “very” or “extremely” concerned” about how their future (hypothetical) or current children would fair in a climate-changed world. Interestingly, they found no gender differences in concern, though younger respondents had heightened concerns and anxiety about the future. Helm, Kemper, and White (2021) studied reader comments on articles of individuals going childfree in response to climate change, where themes of overpopulation, climate “doomism” and subsequent anti-reproductive attitudes emerged. Additionally, they held 24 semi-structured interviews with 18-35-year-olds at Universities in New Zealand and the United States. Their interviewees emphasized the impact of future children on the planet, contributing to overpopulation and overconsumption, and felt guilty for potentially “bringing up a child in a world which they often considered bleak or doomed.”

Context of the Study

Salt Lake County, Utah, United States is found in a valley or basin, with mountain ranges on each side. The geology of the region, compounded by intense economic and industrial development, leads to unhealthy levels of ozone and particulate matter trapped during inversions, on par with megacities like Delhi or Beijing (Benney et al., 2021). Children, pregnant people, and the elderly are advised to stay inside on “bad air days.” Residents of this valley lose 2-4 years of life expectancy due to this air and are 16% more likely to experience spontaneous pregnancy loss (miscarriage) (Leiser et al., 2019). High pollution levels are more prominent on the west side of the city, which is more densely populated by low-income and ethnic minority enclaves. The predominant religion in the state (~50% of the population), The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (LDS), headquartered in Salt Lake City, features a central tenant to “populate and replenish the earth,” or an emphasis on large family size. Utah is expected to experience more intense droughts and worsening air quality.

Given Salt Lake City’s environmental future, I wondered how this impacts people’s decision to have children. From Fall 2019 through Summer 2020, I recruited people through a study expanding contraceptive access to people in Utah (Family Planning Elevated, N=20), snowball sampled community members (N=14), and sent out a virtual flyer through professors and student groups, seeking undergraduate students who were willing to talk about their futures and family planning, broadly (N=31).  I sought out individuals who were environmentally aligned, and those who were more disconnected from that discourse or education. I interviewed 65 people, men, women, trans, and gender non-conforming individuals who are of reproductive age to understand how environmental degradation such as regional air quality and global climate change influenced their fertility intentions and childbearing decision-making.

Table 1

Demographics of Interviewees (N=65)

Age Race & Ethnicity Gender Sexual Orientation Parenthood
19-45 Years Old

Average: 27.1

47 White

10 Latinx

4 Asian American

3 Black

1 Middle Eastern

49 Women

15 Men

1 Non-Conforming

39 Straight

12 Bisexual

8 Questioning

1 Gay

12 parenting

2 children: 7

1 child: 5

 

I categorized my interviewees based on their level of concern, and plan for their fertility and futures in the face of global climate change and regional air pollution, creating a spectrum: The Wombs Day Preppers (26/65): those who express severe environmental concerns and plan not to have children; The Downsizers (19): those who hold environmental concerns and plan to have fewer children; The Leavers (9): those who are concerned about air pollution and plan to move away while maintaining the same fertility intentions; The Environmentally Unconcerned (11): those who indicate little to no environmental concerns, thus unchanged fertility intentions. Fifty-four of the sixty-five interviewees indicated that climate change and air pollution created much uncertainty and precarity, directly influencing their fertility decisions.

The largest camp (26 interviewees) deemed the Wombs Day Preppers, was made up of mainly cis-gender women (24) who embodied eco-anxiety, tying this directly into their fertility and family plans. They centered global climate change as their main reason for opting out of childbearing. They highlighted themes of overpopulation, believed adoption could be a cure-all, and had sincere empathy and altruism for future generations. They also voiced concerns about health issues caused by pollution, their own declining mental health, and frustration with governmental inaction. A 27-year-old white woman states:

      The more I read about how polluted everything is, you know, brain development is more affected and I’m looking at my sister’s children and I’m like, do I tell them? Or do I just let them die? Because I don’t want to overload them with scary information, but also they need to know it’s kind of hard to escape. So is it even worth telling them because there’s nothing they can do? And I don’t want to have to be that one that’s concerned about my child…I mean, I still have the desire to have children, but it’s the fear of it is definitely bigger than the desire.

The Downsizers (19 interviewees), 14 women and 5 men, had less concern about global climate change but heightened concern about local air quality. They had shifted to a smaller family ethic (Rieder 2016), or a smaller ideal family size in the face of environmental degradation. They also believed adoption to be a substitute for reproduction. A 21-year-old Black woman said: “I’m very concerned because [as] humans we destroy a lot of things, like things that are good for us too. And sometimes, you don’t even realize it until it’s too late. And then when the last tree is there, we’re going to protect it with our whole heart, you know?”

The Leavers (9), 4 women, and 5 men were concerned mainly with air pollution and planned to move away from the Salt Lake Valley while maintaining the same fertility intentions. Many of these individuals were parenting, and held privilege in their positionality as white, middle-class individuals, leaning on techno-optimism or economic innovation as the way out of the climate crisis. A 37-year-old white man, and father of 2 stated:

      Every dad wants their kids to have something better than they had. But to think about the experiences that I had that my kids may not ever have…You see these people arguing [against the existence of] climate change and it’s so infuriating, it’s almost maddening… We’re moving [to Colorado] because my kids aren’t going to grow up with asthma.

Lastly, the Environmentally Unconcerned, (11/65), 4 men, and 7 women, indicated no changes to their fertility. Interestingly, every interviewee in this group was currently parenting. They highlighted concerns about “where society was headed,” or how the economy was doing. A 22-year-old white man scoffs, “Whatever side of the political aisle they fall on, people love the idea of freedom…That’s part of our national identity…people need to take a step back away from their emotions and kind of take a look at the evidence…(laughing) ‘Hey! Don’t have kids because of climate change!’”

Overall, 54 of the 65 interviewees (Wombs Day Preppers, Downsizers, and the Leavers) indicated that environmental concerns significantly influenced or altered their fertility intentions and family planning (Helm et al. 2021; Schneider-Mayerson & Leong, 2020).

Climate change, like all things, is an embodied experience.”
– Jade Sasser (2016, p.58)

      Women often “fulfill a social responsibility,” taking action to improve a situation, such as family planning and contraception (Sasser, 2016, p. 58). Women have greater perception of vulnerability to and awareness of risk from nuclear power to toxic household products; meaning women are also less willing than men to offshore their risk onto others (Kalof et al., 2002; Norgaard & York, 2005). Many of the women of this study had an “embodied environmentalism,” attaching their deeply held eco-anxiety to their fertility intentions and childbearing decisions. A 31-year-old white woman stated, “I don’t want to bring a child into this world only to have them starve to death or suffocate or, you know, burned alive in a wildfire. It’s just something that I don’t want to bring upon another being. I’m already stressed about it for myself.” Further still, a 24-year-old Latina illuminated that she has a recurring dream, “I’m lying on this ice cap in the middle of the ocean, and it’s melting. So the sea level is rising, and it’s like I’m drowning, and as I look up, I can see like CO2 molecules coming at me, and they’re suffocating me, and I just wake up in a panic.”

Conversely, the men in this study exhibited more of a “disassociated environmentalism.” It is well documented in the literature that women and communities of color more strongly perceive the risk and threat of global warming and environmental degradation and express concern much more than white men (Marshall 2004; McCright & Dunlap, 2011). Climate change, primarily driven by the operations of industrial capitalism, directly challenges the same system, and triggers anti-climate science rhetoric and outright denial by the people who benefit the most from this economic system. McCright and Dunlap (2011) found that 39.6% of conservative white men believe that global warming will never happen, whereby only 7.4 % of all other adults believe this. The men in this study echoed this, downplaying risk when climate change was introduced as a topic, “I don’t really believe it,” “none of that concerns me” or with techno-optimism, “If we focus on green energy, that problem [climate change] will be solved; it will not be a big deal.”

The people of color, or people of the global majority who I interviewed (18/65), spoke of their family of origin and their environmental legacy of risk. They held eco-reproductive attitudes compounded with other pressing concerns such as racism and gun violence in the United States. They held heightened risk perceptions due to the daily climate crisis experienced by people of the global majority in this country. Echoing the “Global Warming’s Six Americas” study (2020), Hispanics/Latinos (69%) and African Americans (57%) are more likely to be alarmed or concerned about global warming than are whites (49%). White people are more likely to be doubtful or dismissive (27%) than Hispanics/Latinos (11%) or African Americans (12%). Interviewees in this project spoke to their family’s struggles with ongoing asthma and bronchitis due to living near industrial pollution, or of their family’s matrilineal struggles with fertility due to chemicals and pesticides exposure. A 34-year-old Black woman exclaimed, “Bills and sick grandmas are more pressing than the environment, but they are all connected!”

Reproductive choices amidst an ongoing climate crisis, in the shadow of the overturn of Roe v. Wade is another example of the precariousness of this current moment. These are unprecedented times–wars, conflict, natural disasters, generations of young people experiencing economic recession(s). Punctures in the fabric of what we once knew our realities to be—breakdown of society because of a coronavirus, or the breakdown of bodily autonomy.

We protest by putting our bodies on the line, we walk, we congregate, we vote. Not partaking in something is also resistance. Not reproducing, nor perpetuating this system, and withdrawing a lineage in defiance is another form of activism and rebellion for some individuals. Abstaining from childbearing, or “birth striking,” is one form of climate activism, signaling to older generations how problematic climate change is for the future (Ballew et al., 2019; Leiserowitz et al., 2018).

In the last few years, we have seen Wynn Bruce protest the climate crisis by self-immolating at the United States Supreme Court Building in Washington, D.C. on Earth Day 2022. However, this event received very little media attention, while incidents such as young people throwing soup on Van Gogh paintings ignited international outrage. Herein lies the paradox. Climate adaptations are created to protect property and profit, but not people. The COP talks are not about protecting the sovereignty of indigenous communities, but unfortunately about protecting the land they reside upon. The wealthy will buffer themselves, colonizing Mars before addressing systemic inequalities which spur climate collapse. It has never been about population growth, but about who is deemed “worthy” of taking up space on this planet.

Women of color illuminate the limited access that marginalized communities have had to their own bodies, while white feminist movements prioritize choice and birth control without recognizing intersectionality and compounding oppression. In 2020, the BirthStrike movement announced its end and replaced its online presence with a support group called “Grieving Parenthood in the Climate Crisis: Channeling Loss into Climate Justice.” The white-led group recognized that fear and anxiety may make “overpopulation” an attractive focus that feeds into division and eco-fascism. May we find the collective strength and bravery to expand our movements rather than collapse them in the face of these risks.

In this moment, we can root ourselves firmly in the environmental reproductive justice nexus, fiercely protecting choice, access, and autonomy in this era of climate crisis and forced birth. We must decolonize how we think about family, kinship, our relationship with one another and this earth—we must remember that love has many forms beyond one’s own offspring (Cook, 1997; Solnit, 2017). We can be horrified of the unknown and carve out joy and generative grief, while creating or fostering another generation to brave tomorrow. We must reverently sit with the violent and racist histories of “population dynamics,” bravely confront the disproportionate impacts of climate change, and upend systems of domination and extractive capitalism.

Take good care of each other.

Discussion Questions

  • What factors or conditions shape your own future world building, family planning, or reproductive intentions?
  • How do environmental concerns (global climate change, regional pollution, toxins, sites of production, etc.) layer into these concerns and decisions?
  • In your community, do these conversations come up, and in what way?
  • How do discussions of “choice” feel compounded in the current moment?
  • What elements would you envision in a more climate just and/or reproductively just world?
  • What feels most generative when you are feeling grief (climate, future, or otherwise)? Do you have community in that grief? How can you cultivate space for these heavy emotions?

Natalie Blanton, PhD:

University of Tennessee at Chattanooga

Department of Sociology

School of Social, Cultural, and Justice Studies

Natalie-blanton@utc.edu

Resources for Further Study

  • Sasser, Jade S. 2018. On Infertile Ground: Population Control and Women’s Rights in the Era of Climate Change. New York: New York University Press.
  • “How to Survive the End of the World: Learning from the Apocalypse with Grace, Rigor and Curiosity,” A Podcast From the Brown Sisters https://www.endoftheworldshow.org/
  • @intersectionalenvironmentalist (on Instagram)
  • Crandall, H. M., & Cunningham, C. M. (2022). The Climate Girl Effect: Fridays, Flint, and Fire. Rowman & Littlefield.
  • Sunrise Movement: https://www.sunrisemovement.org/
  • Conceivable Future website/community: https://conceivablefuture.org/
  • Emotional Resiliency in the Era of Climate Change by Leslie Davenport

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