Hannah E. Karpman and Emily H.
Ruppel Smith College
Maria Torres Smith College School for Social Work
“It wasn’t feasible for us”: Queer Women of Color
Navigating Family Formation
Objective: This intersectional analysis was
designed to explore how lesbian, bisexual, and
queer (LBQ) women of color understand and
navigate family formation decisions.
Background: Family formation research cen-
ters White heterosexual parents and heteronor-
mative pathways (i.e., adoption and cryobank
purchased sperm). Choosing a known donor may
be a way for LBQ women of color to circumvent
a process that has not been responsive to their
needs.
Method: Our qualitative analysis of 13 inter-
views of LBQ parents in families of color exam-
ined (a) the processes through which queer
women of color arrive at the selection of a
known donor, (b) the characteristics that queer
women of color prioritize in donor selection,
and (c) how women’s interactions with exter-
nal institutions (e.g., cryobanks) and histories of
oppressive racialized family formation practices
influence their decision-making.
Results: Participants arrived at the selection of
known donors because the desired donor char-
acteristics were unavailable through commer-
cial sperm banks, particularly with regard to the
intersection of a person who could be known
and mirrored specific racial, ethnic, and cul-
tural characteristics. This decision was highly
Lilly Hall, Smith College, Northampton, MA 01063 (hkarp-
man@smith.edu).
Key Words: Assistive reproductive technology, family forma-
tion, intersectionality, queer, sperm donor, women of color.
118 Family Relations 67 (February 2018): 118–131
DOI:10.1111/fare.12303
connected to their individual identities and the
intersections of those identities.
Conclusion: LBQ women of color may choose
known sperm donors and seek to minimize
their use of biotechnology because they do not
consider other alternatives (e.g., bank-acquired
sperm) desirable or feasible.
Implications: Findings invite the reimagination
of a cryobanking system that operates on a rela-
tional rather than biomedical model and the
need for services that practice outside of White,
heteronormative paradigms.
Up to six million children in the United States
have one or more lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans-
gender, or queer (LGBTQ) parent (Gates,
2014). Further, lesbian couples of color are
more likely to raise children than their White
lesbian counterparts (Movement Advancement
Project, Family Equality Council, & Center
for American Progress, 2011). We use the
phrase of color throughout this article to refer
collectively to those who are at risk of being
marginalized for the color of their skin and do
so as a means to center the intersection of race,
ethnicity, and colorism in the marginalization
of women’s experiences (Burton, Bonilla-Silva,
Ray, Buckelew, & Hordge Freeman, 2010;
Crenshaw, 1991; Few-Demo, 2014). Although
each of these phenomena is a distinct marker
of experience, they also are strongly interwo-
ven. Further, such phrasing acknowledges the
influence of a queer of color critique, which
asserts the need to also center queerness along
Queer Women Of Color Family Formation
with the aforementioned markers of experience
(Ferguson, 2004). Underlying this assertion is
the idea that queers of color lie outside of any
heteronormative ideas about race, ethnicity,
and color (Brockenbrough, 2016). Accordingly,
scholarly focus should seek to understand how
the navigation of these intersections is informed
by historical oppressions and continues to play
out through contemporary interactions with
larger structures and systems.
Cisgender lesbians—that is, lesbians whose
personal gender identity matches the sex they
were assigned at birth (Tate, Ledbetter, &
Youssef, 2013)—may adopt children, conceive
via a sperm bank, or conceive with the sperm
of a known donor. Bank donors may be fully
anonymous or willing to be known (often
referred to as ID-release) after the child’s 18th
birthday. Existing literature on lesbian-headed
families (a) largely focuses on adoption and
anonymous insemination over known donor
insemination and (b) centers the experiences
of White parents and their children, despite
the higher likelihood of children who live in
lesbian-headed families to have parents of color
than White parents (Agigian, 2004; Chabot &
Ames, 2004; Goldberg, Downing, & Richard-
son, 2009; Ryan-Flood, 2009). This pattern
reflects a broader critique of the family science
literature for its heteronormative assumptions
(e.g., that coparents are heterosexual and chil-
dren are biologically related to both parents;
Oswald, Blume, & Marks, 2005) and lack of
focus on families of color (Few-Demo, 2014).
Some families rebuke heteronormativity on
their pathway to family formation by selecting a
known sperm donor (friend, family member, or
acquaintance). In this study, we used consensual
qualitative research (Hill et al., 2005) and an
intersectional lens to examine (a) characteristics
queer women of color prioritize in their donor
selection process, (b) how and why queer women
of color arrive at the choice of a known donor,
and (c) how women’s interactions with external
institutions (e.g., cryobanks), histories (e.g., of
transracial adoption), and discourses influence
this decision-making processes. In doing so, we
use a queering methodological approach (Fish &
Russell, 2018).
Sensitizing Theoretical Framework
Intersectional feminism suggests that identities
are constructed through an ongoing, interactive,
119
context-specific process (Few-Demo, 2014).
Crenshaw (1991) coined the term intersec-
tionality while arguing that hierarchies viewed
as distinct (namely, White supremacy and
patriarchy) are in fact interlocking and mutu-
ally reinforcing and that efforts to subvert
these hierarchies should focus on the expe-
riences of groups victimized by intersections
of power. This perspective is quite consistent
with the queer of color critique (Ferguson,
2004). Few-Demo (2014) encouraged family
researchers to consider Greenwood’s (2008)
four tenets of intersectional research: that iden-
tities are not discrete but overlapping, that these
identity categories include symbolic compo-
nents, that intersectional research should be
historically situated, and that intersecting struc-
tures manifest on the level of individual identity
but are also reflected in broader power relations.
In keeping with these recommendations, and
those of Choo and Ferree (2010), in the present
study we consider the multiplicity of partici-
pants’ identities, situate the study historically
with regard to adoption and assistive reproduc-
tive technologies, and examine how parents’
decision-making relates to the social systems
and institutions in which families’ identities are
embedded.
We use the approach McCall (2005) termed
intracategorical complexity for its focus on a
specific marginalized group, using diversity
within this group to reveal the fragmented and
overlapping nature of identity categories, while
calling attention to the institutions that produce
these categories. In a review of intersectional
family research, Few-Demo (2014) echoed
this goal, calling for researchers “to exam-
ine the fluidity, variability, and temporality of
interactive processes that occur between and
within multiple social groups, institutions, and
social practices” (2014, p. 170). Price’s (2011)
call for intersectional analysis of reproduction
highlights the need to study differences among
women of color, including by racial and eth-
nic group. Our work deconstructs the broad
categories of race, ethnicity, and culture by
describing how these identities intersect with
sexuality and gender during the family forma-
tion process. Recognizing that each participant
may conceptualize or define race, ethnicity,
and culture differently, we have opted against
applying epidemiological definitions of these
terms in our analysis in recognition of the intra-
categorical complexity present in the narratives.
120
Rather, we have allowed our participants to
reflect on their own chosen identities and the
ways in which these identities and their intersec-
tions were considered in their family formation
processes.
Sociohistorical Context
Existing scholarship suggests that the history of
slavery (Roberts, 1995), oppressive reproduc-
tive practices (e.g., forced sterilization; Roberts,
2007) and cultural genocide (e.g., transracial
adoption as a method of forced acculturation;
Simon & Hernandez, 2008) affect family for-
mation for women of color. The institution of
slavery and its forced erasure of family ties
and genetic lineage has a clear and traceable
impact on Blacks’ conceptions of families.
Roberts (1995) documented the impact of slav-
ery on Black communities, and in particular
the de-emphasis of genetics in definitions of
family or communities. Fogg-Davis (2001)
clarified this further, noting the distinction
between genetic traits and ties and arguing that
a choice to develop kinship networks outside
of genetic ties does not mean a devaluing of
those ties. Glass and Few-Demo’s (2013) work
with Black lesbian mothers highlights that in
the context of oppressive race-based policies,
kinship networks became central to survival and
to the sharing of cultural rituals and practice,
which suggests a focus on kinship relationships
as an act of resistance rather than a choice to
decentralize genetic relationships.
Roberts (1997) described how White
supremacy in the United States hinges on
White control of Black women’s reproduction,
including through recent coercive permanent or
semipermanent sterilization programs. As sug-
gested by Silliman, Fried, Ross, and Guttiérrez
(2004), forced or coerced birth control, abortion,
and sterilization, and policies limiting access
to reproductive technology are tied to White
efforts to limit population growth in Black,
Native American, Latina, and Asian American
communities. Silliman et al. argued that these
efforts are embedded in conflicts over White
colonization of Native American lands and
assimilation of Asian and Latina cultural groups
into White society via immigration. Their work
documents activism against restraints on the
intergenerational transmission of culture as
well as the transmission of genetic material.
Notably, more research is needed on differences
Family Relations
by ethnicity in these institutional constraints’
applications.
Native American, Black, Asian, and Latina
children have been adopted into White fami-
lies at high rates (Simon & Hernandez, 2008;
Smith, 1996). Ideological justifications for trans-
racial adoption, including international adop-
tion, often lie in claims that White families can
provide a healthier environment for children of
color than their communities of origin, rely-
ing on assumptions of White cultural superior-
ity. Some scholars and activists have labeled the
disproportionate adoption of Black and Native
American children into White families as forms
of cultural genocide (Hamilton, Samek, Keyes,
McGue, & Iacono, 2015; Simon & Hernandez,
2008) via the erasure of children of color’s ori-
gins. Adoptive practices have been introduced as
an integral consideration in the conceptualiza-
tion of historical trauma in indigenous popula-
tions, where such histories may feel particularly
relevant (Evans-Campbell, 2008). Research sup-
porting these conclusions indicates that children
of color adopted by White parents report low lev-
els of racial identification (Lee, 2003; McRoy,
Zurcher, Lauderdale, & Anderson, 1982), sug-
gesting that such adoptions may serve as a tool
for cultural assimilation.
Family Formation Among LBQ-Identified
Women
Lesbian couples’ and single LBQ women’s
access to adoption and biological reproduction
is an innovation of the second half of the 20th
century (see also in this issue: Farr, Ravvina,
& Grotevant, 2018; Prendergast & MacPhee,
2018). Most medical professionals refused
to inseminate openly LBQ women until the
late 1980s, and early commercial sperm banks
typically shipped only to medical facilities
(Agigian, 2004; Batza, 2016). Today, barriers
to conception often take the form of provider
heteronormativity (e.g., treatment protocols
designed for heterosexual couples), health
insurance policies that do not include fertility
coverage for same-sex partners, or a lack of
education for medical providers about LBQ
women’s needs (Hayman, Wilkes, Halcomb,
& Jackson, 2013; Rank, 2010). The adop-
tion system’s history of discrimination against
same-sex couples often prevented LBQ women
from parenting adopted children during the
20th century. Despite the elimination of many
Queer Women Of Color Family Formation
legal barriers, LBQ women attempting to adopt
continue to report high levels of discrimina-
tion (Brown, Smalling, Groza, & Ryan, 2009).
Although these barriers to family formation
are well documented in LBQ populations, the
interaction between these barriers and practices
of reproductive control of communities of color
is less understood.
Researchers are beginning to examine
experiences of lesbian families of color post
conception (Glass & Few-Demo, 2013; Ros-
tosky, Riggle, Savage, Roberts, & Singletary,
2008; Steinbugler, 2005). This research focuses
largely on families’ attempts to manage stigma
and overall mental health and does not examine
pathways to family formation in the con-
text of social identity. Exceptions include
Basford-Pequet (2010), who found that LBQ
women of color often wish for their children
to share their racial backgrounds, and Mezey
(2008), who took a multiracial perspective on
lesbian couples’ decisions to reproduce or not to
reproduce but did not address questions of how
to reproduce.
Donor Insemination
After tracing the racialized history of donor
insemination in the United States, Daniels and
Golden (2004) suggested that sperm banks prac-
tice a form of positive eugenics, which works
in concert with efforts to suppress reproduction
in populations of color to achieve its social
aims. Today, banks sell sperm from predomi-
nantly White donors; Black and Latino donors
are substantially underrepresented (Daniels
& Heidt-Forsyth, 2012). Walther (2014) did
not find marked patient preferences for White
donors, suggesting that bank practices, including
choices of donors, not consumer preferences,
may be the primary force upholding dispari-
ties in available sperm. Indeed, participants in
Basford-Pequet’s (2010) study of interracial
lesbian couples expressed frustration with the
limited number of donors of color supplied by
sperm banks. However, it is not known whether
women of color may turn to known donors if
sperm banks do not offer donors who match their
preferences. Roberts (1997) detailed high levels
of suspicion of the fertility industry among
Black women, which may stem in part from its
donor offerings, but no research could be found
on perceptions among other racial groups or
among LBQ Black women specifically.
121
Adoption
The literature on adoption also raises questions
related to the race of the child in the context of
the family. The National Association of Black
Social Workers and the National Indian Child
Welfare Association condemn transracial adop-
tion (Hamilton et al., 2015). Black discomfort
with transracial adoption (Carter-Black, 2002),
and limited willingness among LBQ women
of color to adopt children from different racial
groups (Goldberg & Smith, 2009) suggest that
LBQ women of color may respond to the histor-
ical trauma of transracial adoption by choosing
to raise children from their own racial groups
or by rejecting adoption altogether. Mezey
(2008) found Black and Latina lesbians to be
less interested in adoption than White lesbians,
which may reflect generalized concern about
children’s access to their racial and cultural
origins. Collectively, the research literature
documents differences in family formation
preferences and processes by race and ethnicity
and has begun to explore how sexual orientation
influences these decisions. An intersectional
approach goes a step further by encouraging
examination of how these multiple identities
intersect simultaneously.
Method
In this study, we focus on a subset of inter-
views with families of color, drawn from a
larger study of known donor families, and pose
the following overarching research question:
How do queer women of color navigate fam-
ily formation? Thus, this study focuses on data
drawn from interviews with study participants
who identified as women of color or who were
coparenting with a woman of color. Participants
explicitly approved all text that appears in this
article, although pseudonyms are used through-
out. Further, we maintained an advisory council
of stakeholders and participants who reviewed
and guided our research questions, materials,
coding schemas, and paper drafts for this study.
Recruitment Procedures and Sample
Characteristics
Recruitment for the study occurred on Facebook,
through targeted outreach to LGBTQ parenting
groups, and in person at pride events. Facebook
advertising targeted people between 18 and
122
Table 1. Race or Ethnicity of Parents and Known Donor
Participant namesa Carrying parent Other parent
Christy and Sara White Mixed-race Black
Valerie and Jodi Mixed-race Latina Korean
Donna and Renee Black Black
Wendy and Susan Mixed-race Black Latina
Kathleen and Linda White Chinese
Tracey and Katie Native American White
Kerry Mixed-race Black — White
Anita and Joanna Black Black
Shannon and Dawn Mixed-race Filipina White
Charlotte and Maana Mixed-race Iranian Iranian
Note. a All names are pseudonyms.
65 years of age who were LGBTQ identified,
spoke English, and were parents. The campaign
also included networks of those who had “liked”
the Facebook page we created for our larger
study and those who “liked” pages identified
as LBQ parenting or known sperm donation
groups. Also, e-mail recruitment messages were
sent to a directory of 104 LBQ parenting groups
in the United States, and research assistants
recruited in person at LGBTQ community cele-
brations, or pride events, in four geographically
diverse cities. DeBlaere, Brewster, Sarkees,
and Moradi (2010) suggested these tech-
niques as a way to extend outreach to families
of color.
Interviews from 13 participants (20% of the
larger study’s parent sample) who self-identified
as parents in a family of color were used for
this analysis. These participants had a mean
age at conception of 33.4 years. Forty-two per-
cent of women used donors who were rela-
tives of the nongestational parent, 26% used
friends or acquaintances, and 17% of donors
were introduced through a third party for the
purpose of conception. (Some women chose
not to categorize their initial relationship to
their donors, but all donors were known before
conception.) Forty-six percent of interviewees’
highest education was a 4-year college degree,
and an additional 39% had some form of grad-
uate or professional degree. All reported an
annual household income above $50,000 at the
time of conception. Interviewees were asked to
self-identify their racial or ethnic backgrounds.
The majority of interviewees identified as Black
or African American (47%). Table 1 provides an
overview of the racial and ethnic compositions
of participants’ families.
Family Relations
Known donor race or ethnicity Number of children
Black 2
Korean 1
White 1
Mixed-race Black 2
Chinese 2
White 2
1
White 1
White 1
Iranian 2
Interview Procedure
Two research assistants trained by the prin-
cipal investigator interviewed participants via
videoconference during the spring and sum-
mer of 2015. The principal investigator lis-
tened to the interviews as they occurred and
offered feedback to the research assistants in an
ongoing way to ensure quality control. Partic-
ipants chose to be interviewed individually or
with their partner; family research makes use
of both approaches, each of which has its own
merits (Beitin, 2008; Gilgun, Daly, & Handel,
1992). We used both approaches because fam-
ilies had distinct preferences in some cases, and
our goal was to make participation accessible
and not to lose potential data. Interviews began
with a narrative question (Lieblich & Jossel-
son, 1997) that encouraged participants to tell
their known donor story. Although discouraged
from overtly directing conversations, interview-
ers asked open-ended questions addressing spe-
cific domains not already covered in the narrative
section. Domains included relationships, com-
munication, family structure and roles, inter-
actions with external systems (e.g., legal and
health), and highs and lows of their experiences.
Coding and Analysis
All interviews were digitally recorded and tran-
scribed verbatim. Five interviews were then
independently coded using open and axial cod-
ing by three members of the research team
(Corbin & Strauss, 2014) using the constant
comparative method (Glaser, 1978) with the goal
of creating three individual codebooks. The team
of three then compared codebooks and discussed
differences where they existed and created a final
Queer Women Of Color Family Formation
codebook via consensus decision-making (Hill
et al., 2005). The team members each applied
this codebook to three transcripts as a pilot and
then reviewed the pilot with our advisory coun-
cil, seeking their feedback as well. This pro-
cess generated the final coding strategy that we
applied to all transcripts in the larger project. In
this final coding process, two researchers coded
each interview, and one evaluated discrepancies.
We used Dedoose Version 7.0.23 (2016) to man-
age and analyze the data. To ensure transferabil-
ity (Janesick, 1994) and promote consensus, the
research team sent drafts of the findings section
to each participant profiled to elicit feedback,
which was used to further hone the findings we
describe next.
Results
Regardless of their final decision, families had
substantive discussions regarding the racial,
ethnic, and cultural background of the donor
as part of their family formation processes.
Women often arrived at the selection of a known
donor because the desired characteristics of a
donor were unavailable through commercial
sperm banks, particularly with regard to the
intersection of a desire for a person who could
be known and a desire for specific racial, ethnic,
and cultural characteristics. Women prioritized
donors who shared physical characteristics,
but also prioritized donors with shared cultural
experiences, including the lived experiences of
discrimination. These decisions were situated
within an assistive reproductive system that
could not meet their needs and a historical
context that informed these needs. Although
these themes were present across the couples
in our sample, there were differences in how
parents understood and articulated these issues,
which an intersectional lens helps to explore.
Selection of a Known Donor
Seven families suggested that their interactions
with outside institutions and discourses shaped
their choice to use a known donor and their
selection of a donor from a specific racial group.
These interviewees suggested that cultural atti-
tudes about biological relatedness, or discourse
around transracial adoption in communities
of color, had shaped their preference for a
known donor over adoption or an anonymous
donor.
123
“It felt a bit hopeless”: Interactions with sperm
banks. Four families found that sperm banks did
not meet their needs, whether for political rea-
sons, financial reasons, or a paucity of avail-
able donors. Kathleen initially planned to use
an anonymous donor, and she and her partner
Linda hoped for a donor who agreed that the
sperm bank could release identifying informa-
tion after the child’s 18th birthday. They later
found that this criterion, along with their pre-
viously discussed ethnic preference, limited the
donors available:
We wanted a Chinese donor, which was rare—like
we only had five to choose from, and then also
really wanted [an ID-release donor]. So when we
narrowed it down to those number of people who
are willing to acknowledge and people who are
Chinese, we literally, from each sperm bank we
would have maybe three to four options.
At this stage, they began to consider Kath-
leen’s brother or another known donor more seri-
ously. Their experience highlights the paucity of
donors of color and the effects of any additional
criteria on the size of this available pool. As we
discuss shortly, many families of color did prefer
knowable donors, making the lack of ID-release
donors a pertinent issue.
Valerie and her partner had a similar expe-
rience when looking for an anonymous donor,
and this experience also pushed them toward
a known donor. Valerie found seeking anony-
mous sperm a painful process, explaining, “It
felt a little bit hopeless ’cause there were six
donors who could potentially do it—[who] fit
our criteria,” while further noting that race was
their only must-have criterion for a donor. Their
friendships with other queer Korean couples fur-
ther complicated the picture. Because fewer than
10 Korean donors were available through main-
stream sperm banks, they became concerned
that their children might be genetically related
to their friends’ children without the parents’
awareness of the genetic relationship. When a
family member introduced her to Corey, their
eventual donor, they leapt at the opportunity to
avoid the anonymous route with a donor who
met their racial preference.
Perceptions of transracial adoption. Although
few families in our study expressly considered
adoption, the historical ways in which transra-
cial adoption has been deployed and the nega-
tive impact of such adoptions on offspring were
124
frequently mentioned. Two couples chose not to
adopt based on ethical concerns about adopting
a child from a different racial group. Two others
suggested that the discourse around transracial
adoption had shaped their choice to use a known
donor instead of an anonymous donor. Our data
suggest that the politics of transracial adoption
shape the preferences of families of color beyond
the initial choice not to adopt a child from a dif-
ferent racial group.
Choosing between adoption and a donor. Kath-
leen, who had herself been transracially adopted,
seriously considered adoption but had been con-
cerned that her children would not have access
to their racial, cultural, and ethnic community
of origin, underscoring the importance of pro-
viding a child with those connections. Her Chi-
nese biological family strongly discouraged her
from adopting and was thrilled when she chose a
known donor over an anonymous donor. Further,
it was important to her to use a Chinese donor
due to her concerns about transracially adopted
children’s identity development.
Valerie and Jodi’s concerns about transracial
adoption also led them to choose a known donor,
but for different reasons. Although most dis-
course on transracial adoption focuses on the
implications of White parents raising children
of color, Valerie suggested that parents of color
raising children of different marginalized racial
groups might also be harmful, highlighting dif-
ferences within communities of color and the
importance of distinctions among race, ethnicity,
and culture.
I think both of us have sort of political and ethical
concerns with transracial adoption and transcul-
tural adoption.. .. We were kind of concerned about
the racial and ethnic identity of our child. .. I think
it would have just opened up a whole other box of
worms about transracial adoption too,’cause likely
we wouldn’t have been adopting a mixed API
[Asian Pacific Islander] kid or a Korean kid.
Choosing between an anonymous donor and a
known donor. Discourse around transracial
adoption and mixed-race identity also shaped
the family formation process for families who
did not directly consider adoption. Several par-
ticipants suggested that histories of transracial
adoption had shaped their ideologies about
children’s knowledge of their genetic origins.
Tracy, a Native American woman, expressed
Family Relations
stronger ideological concerns about anonymous
donors than anyone else in our study, which
likely stems from the forced acculturation of
indigenous children in the United States through
the use of adoption.
I couldn’t have done it to my kids to do it any
other way than [using a known donor]. I’m so, so,
dyed in the wool strong on the fact that knowing
your origin is a human rights issue. Even if you
don’t have a good story, at least you have a story....
I feel like I couldn’t have children and have this
unknown entity out there that’s 50% of their DNA.
Kerry, a “mixed-race Black woman,” also
suggested that her family background and the
discussions of transracial adoption and interra-
cial marriage it exposed her to had influenced her
choice to use a known donor versus an anony-
mous donor. As she explained it,
When I was a kid, like in the late ’70s, there
was all these talk shows about featuring pan-
els about, “Oh gosh, you can’t have mixed
kids; they won’t know who they are, they
won’t know what side they’re on.”
Her concerns were unique to her own expe-
riences as a mixed-race woman and the experi-
ences she encountered as a result.
In part based on what she had heard about
identity formation for mixed-race and transra-
cially adopted children, Kerry hoped to use a
known donor so that her children would know
and have access to their racial, ethnic, and
cultural communities of origin. Kerry stated
explicitly that her child’s access to the donor
took priority over her donor’s race: Although she
hoped to use a Black donor, she was unable to
find one who was willing to be known, so she
ultimately used a White acquaintance.
Cultural beliefs about biological relatedness.
Although some families discussed their desire
for a knowable donor in the context of trans-
racial adoption, others suggested it stemmed
from deeper cultural beliefs about knowing one’s
origins. Charlotte and Maana, an Iranian cou-
ple, stated that their cultural background had
informed their choice to use a known donor:
I think for actually both my family and Maana’s
family, having a known donor was really impor-
tant, more important than even it was for us.. ..
I think Iranians culturally care a lot more about
genetics and have some ideas of, like, biology
makes family and adoption is not really a thing.
Queer Women Of Color Family Formation
Similarly, Shannon stated that her mother’s
Filipino background had led her to value
use of a known donor. Because their donor
was biologically related to Dawn (the non-
carrying parent), it increased her family’s
willingness to recognize Dawn as an equal
parent. Even if women choose White donors
(as Shannon and Dawn did), their cultural
backgrounds may lead them to prefer known
or ID-release donors. These preferences some-
times manifested through critiques of trans-
racial adoption, and sometimes manifested as
broader references to the importance of genetics,
but Kerry, Charlotte, and Shannon all explicitly
stated that their racial and cultural identities had
informed the preference for a knowable donor.
Donor Characteristics
“A baby who looked like us.” Two intervie-
wees sought a donor who physically resembled
the noncarrying parent. Each couple’s dis-
cussions about this preference were rooted in
their unique identities. Kathleen, a woman who
self-identified as Chinese and was married to
a White woman named Linda, selected her
brother as their donor so that the children would
be identifiably mixed race and a product of both
parents. Kathleen explained, “Our plan was to
get a donor who was Chinese and have my part-
ner Linda carry them so they’d be half Chinese.”
The couple eventually selected Kathleen’s
brother as their donor, so “we’d have a baby that
looked like us.” Kathleen wanted both mothers
to be recognized parents to their child and to
ensure the child had physical characteristics that
resembled each of them.
Appearance preferences also led Wendy,
a self-identified Latina woman whose
self-identified “mixed-race Black” partner
carried their children, to prefer the mixed-race
donor they eventually selected over one of her
partner’s early suggestions. Their conversation
was a bit more complex and marked by colorism
and its differential impact within communities
of color. Wendy’s partner discussed her obser-
vation of colorism in their decision-making,
although she noted, with relief, that the cou-
ple themselves did not openly discuss it. Susan,
who identified as “mixed-race Black,” explained
their process:
Wendy, my partner, didn’t want Timothy any-
way’cause he was just—she wouldn’t say that, but
125
he was too Black. You know, his skin was very
dark. My partner is a very light-skinned Latina,
and I think that just made her feel—but, again, we
didn’t have to end up confronting her problem with
it because he said no.
Thus, Susan gently hinted at her partner’s
desire for a child who would have lighter skin.
Although she acknowledged that Wendy is a
lighter-skinned Latina and implied that the deci-
sion may have been motivated by a desire to have
the child look more like Wendy, her voice tone
and inflection implied a broader implication of
Wendy’s comments and the potential for conflict
between the couple around issues of colorism if
the discussion had occurred.
“Culture as a thing that’s not biological.” Four
families in our sample noted the importance of
finding a donor who shared cultural experiences
with one or both partners, which became a fac-
tor in their decision-making process. Christy, a
White woman raising children with Sara, her
Jamaican American partner, had planned to use
a Black donor to ensure that their children would
be mixed race. Although they did not require a
donor who shared Sara’s cultural identity, they
ultimately used a Jamaican American donor and
articulated the ethnic match as “an extra-cool
thing” because “Sara’s family is Jamaican Amer-
ican, and culturally. .. because our donor was
also that.” As she reflected on this decision,
Christy mused, “I’m getting into the fuzziness
of race and culture as a thing that’s not biologi-
cal.” This “fuzziness” was central to how many
families conceptualized the intersection of their
donors’ racial and cultural identities.
Valerie, a self-described “mixed-race Latina”
woman, spoke to the importance of their donor’s
Korean identity, which he shared with Valerie’s
partner Jodi (the noncarrying parent). Valerie
said, “One thing that felt really important to us. ..
was having a Korean donor. .. because of connec-
tions to culture.” Valerie continued, highlight-
ing what she saw as shared cultural attributes
such as “Korean food” and language. Through-
out the interview, Valerie repeatedly emphasized
her desire that her daughter always have access
to her donor, in the hope that a relationship
would develop over time. His ability to transmit
cultural rituals, attributes, and identity was a key
consideration in the desire for ongoing contact.
“Connection based on lived experience in the
world” (of discrimination). Some participants
126
discussed the importance of their child having
biological parents who they felt would have
shared lived experience with their child. These
experiences included both positive experiences
of cultural connectedness, as well as negative
experiences of discrimination and racism. For
Valerie, using a donor who would produce what
she called a “mixed-race Korean” child would
link her child’s lived experiences to her partner’s
experience, in addition to her physical appear-
ance. As a “mixed-race Latina,” Valerie expe-
rienced social responses to her identity as a
woman of color and believed that her daughter
would understand these shared experiences. Yet
she also recognized that her partner’s experience
as a “mixed-race Asian/Korean” woman was dis-
tinct and different from her own and wanted her
daughter to share those experiences as well.
When she looked to me, I’m her biological mother,
and then when she looks to her other parent, that
there’s also a connection there on the basis of kind
of lived experience in the world. Given what an
organizing factor race is in our context, I think it
felt important that she would have that connection
with her.
Valerie and Jodi were both raised in
mixed-race families. This was an important
distinction for Valerie, and she articulated how
historical and contemporary narratives about
racial purity had shaped her experience of her
own mixed-race identity:
So much of the way we interacted with the world
[as children] was also around the way the world
saw us racially, and I think [as] mixed families. ..
often not being pure, and not being able to have it
be, like, “I’m 100%,” is seen as a deficit, and seen
as something that didn’t connect you.. .. I think one
of our most important values as a family is really
to lift that up as a strength.
Valerie recognized the interactional nature of
the child and the social environment, articulating
how a perceived weakness by others became a
source of resiliency she hoped to share with her
children.
Ruth, a Black woman whose White partner
carried their child, had different reasons for her
desire for a Black donor. In her own words:
If we had a White baby and I’m at the store
with the White baby, all the perception that comes
with a Black woman and a White baby—“It can’t
be hers,” you know? So even with biracial kids,
Family Relations
sometimes growing up, people wouldn’t think you
were their mom.
Ruth’s concern that strangers will assume
she is a childcare worker rather than her child’s
mother highlights how gendered and racialized
ideologies about Black women as domestic
workers shape Black LBQ women’s experiences
of child-rearing. Ruth’s partner Gloria, who
was White, added that the children “had both
cultural and physical race characteristics.” For
her, the selection of a Black donor was about a
shared cultural background and physical char-
acteristics, not whether she, as a White woman,
would be perceived as part of the family unit.
This family’s description of the donor selection
process demonstrates how elements of racial
identity intersect with gender and sexuality
during the family formation process and that
White women understand and experience race
and culture differently than women of color.
“It’s hard to talk about” (White donors in fam-
ilies of color). Families who used White donors
talked about the implications of this choice for
their family’s experiences and identity. Families
expressed complex and strong emotions about
this choice. Anita, a Black woman whose wife
(also Black) carried their son, discussed the
painful assumptions that people made about her
family when her son was out in public with
their White donor: “When [their donor] has him
alone, sometimes people make presumptions
like. .. sorry, this is hard to talk about. .. [they
assume that he is] married to a Black woman
or something.” Her son’s physical appearance
elicits heteronormative (e.g., that the donor is
his White biological father and partnered with
a Black woman) and paternal assumptions about
his family of origin, which intersect to fully erase
the identity of one of his mothers.
Anita’s own experience of these encounters
made her worry out loud about the potential
impact of them on her son as he aged. She
explained, “Our son is young, and as he gets
older, he’ll be talking himself and be like,
[to others who make assumptions] ‘No!’”
She voiced concern about how others might
respond to a mixed-race Black young man who
forcefully asserted his identity in the face of
heteronormative and racist assumptions. She
also worried about how the projections about
their family might impact her son’s sense of
self as he became old enough to understand
Queer Women Of Color Family Formation
their implications. As Anita spoke, she became
emotional when describing strangers’ miscon-
ceptions, suggesting the complexities of these
encounters.
“How Would She Identify”
Other parents discussed the complexities of their
child’s chosen racial, ethnic, and cultural identi-
fications and how both outsiders and their par-
ents might view these choices. They struggled
with this issue, and with a desire to help their
child navigate these identities without impos-
ing one upon them. Shannon, who identified as
half-Filipina and half-White, was married to a
White woman. Her wife carried their child, and
they used Shannon’s brother as their donor. At
the end of the interview, she wondered out loud
about how her daughter might identify: “How
would she identify? I guess—I don’t know, I
guess as what she is, like mostly White, but she’s
also Filipino.” Shannon and Anita’s interviews
reflected awareness that these choices have com-
plex implications for their children’s lived expe-
riences. Elsewhere in the interview, Shannon
stated:
I’m biracial, and I feel like a lot of parents of bira-
cial kids have in their minds “They’re gonna iden-
tify this way.”. .. You can’t make those choices for
your child, because they may feel totally differ-
ently. It’s like they may grow up and just feel no
connection to either side. They may be this other,
you know what I mean? That’s how I feel. I feel
like an other.
This quote highlights the potential disconnect
between how children may be viewed or cate-
gorized by others and how children may under-
stand their own identity, as well as the parents’
struggle to support their children through these
experiences.
Discussion
Our study highlights the value of an intersec-
tional approach to family research. Consistent
with Greenwood’s (2008) tenets of intersectional
research, a queer of color critique (Ferguson,
2004), and Few-Demo’s (2014) insistence that
such an approach is critical to understanding
the family formation decisions of queer women
of color, our analysis uncovered the centrality
of intersecting and overlapping racial, cultural,
ethnic, gender, and sexual orientation identities
127
during the family formation process. Further,
these women clearly articulated how these over-
laps shaped their desires for specific family
makeup and the barriers faced when assert-
ing these choices within the context of broader
systems (e.g., sperm banks). Our participants
openly discussed the impact of historical pat-
terns of oppressive reproductive and accultura-
tion processes via adoption and forced servitude
on their decision-making processes. Finally, our
participants suggested the expansion of current
approaches by highlighting how the intersection
and overlap of their own identities with those of
their partner and their choice about who would
carry the child led to specific donor choices.
Intersectional analysis tends to focus on an indi-
vidual’s identities, yet our participants refer-
enced intersections between their own identities
and the identities of their partner. These over-
laps may be particularly salient in mixed-race
couples.
Queer women of color face an assisted repro-
duction technology (ART) system designed to
maximize reproduction among heterosexual
White women and that historically engaged in
attempts to control the procreation of women of
color, especially Black women (Roberts, 1997,
2009). Disparities continue in ART outcomes
for women of color, with Black women facing
particularly substantial obstacles (Feinberg,
Larsen, Catherino, Zhang, & Armstrong, 2016;
Fujimoto et al., 2010). Our study highlights how
particular identities overlap to create specific
barriers. For instance, the woman in our study
who feared friends’ children would be geneti-
cally related to their own children if they chose
the single available Korean donor from a bank,
given the tight-knit Korean queer community.
As was the case for this family, our data suggest
that LBQ women of color may choose known
donors because they do not consider their other
alternatives viable. Specific gaps include both
the provision of more donor choices that repre-
sent specific racial, cultural, and ethnic groups
and an ability for the donor to be meaningfully
known to the child across their life course.
Although study participants considered the
donor’s physical characteristics (skin color)
and stated identities (e.g., race and ethnicity),
they prioritized overlap between the child and
donor’s lived experience of identity and the
ability to share this experience in the context
of a relationship. Participants situated their
decision-making in the historical context of
128
transracial adoption, and their beliefs echo
research on transracial adoption dealing with
the erasure of children’s identities, which is
consistent with the extant literature (Lee, 2003;
McRoy et al., 1982). Given the history of
forced acculturation of indigenous communities
though adoption in the United States, it was
unsurprising that this historical context seemed
particularly salient for our Native American par-
ticipant. Other participants situated this desire
within the intersection of race and ethnicity,
for instance, wanting a child to have exposure
to Jamaican Black identity, emphasizing the
difference between that and an American Black
identity. These findings highlight intracategori-
cal complexities within the category of “women
of color,” demonstrating that (a) race cannot
be reduced to physical appearance, culture, or
social experience; (b) identity generation is not
a mathematical calculation based on genetic
composition; and (c) experiences of different
groups of women of color should not be con-
flated. Our findings suggest further analyses of
intracategorical differences, particularly those
that explore different histories of reproduc-
tive control and forced assimilation through
adoption practices in specific communities of
color (e.g., Native versus African American
communities), are warranted.
Given the historical context of women’s
decision-making, particularly the forced erasure
of family ties, most women wanted a donor with
specific racial, ethnic, or cultural identities and
one whose identity could be known. Cryobanks
provide few sperm donors of color. The criteria
that the sperm be from an ID-release donor
so severely restricted our participants’ choices
that they felt there were none. Future research
should investigate willingness to donate sperm
among men of color. However, while targeted
recruitment may be one path for sperm banks
to increase numbers of ID-release donors of
color, increased availability will only partially
alleviate women’s concerns. Many participants
believed that identities are shared and reinforced
through intergenerational interactions rather
than through an act of insemination, and these
interactions require early and ongoing contact
between donor and child. Parents also wanted
their donors to share the experience of being a
person of color in the world and to be able to
empathize with and help manage the racist inter-
actions a child might encounter. These findings
are consistent with Roberts’s (1995) position
Family Relations
that “a Black parent’s essential contribution. .. is
not passing down genetic information, but shar-
ing lessons needed to survive in a racist society”
(p. 233). ID-release bank sperm precludes such
interaction because banks do not disclose donor
identities until the child reaches adulthood.
The restrictive nature of ID-release programs
drove women away from cryobanks and toward
known donors, in essence giving rise to assistive
reproduction as an act of community.
For commercial sperm banks to meet the
needs of queer women of color, ID-release
programs need to meet the desire for inter-
generational transmission of the experience of
identity through shared lived experience or the
shared experience of racism. Thus, sperm banks
should re-envision their roles and consider a
shift from a biomedical to relational model.
For example, banks could help match families
and donors before conception, not unlike some
current surrogacy models. Matches could center
on the family needs, with donors reading family
profiles much like those provided to potential
biological mothers by adoption agencies. The
increasingly popularity of websites that spe-
cialize in such connections, such as the Known
Donor Registry, suggests a shift in this direc-
tion. Reproductive rights organizing by women
of color highlights institutional pressures that
discourage them from reproducing biologically
and transmitting culture generationally (Silli-
man et al., 2004); this was reflected in women’s
experiences with sperm-banking practices. In
this context, choosing a known donor becomes
an act of resistance.
Our findings suggest that LBQ families of
color may disproportionately choose known
donors over anonymous donors. Bank-acquired
sperm come with legal protections from custody
challenges that are not available to those who
use fresh sperm. One protective response to this
increased risk is for queer women with known
donors to intentionally inseminate in a medical
setting to establish the intent of parentage as
lying with the two women (some laws, such
as the California family code, support this
approach). In a forthcoming paper, Karpman,
Kantor, Goldberg, and Ruppel (2018) highlight
disparities in access to ART by donor type, with
LBQ women who use known donors encounter-
ing bias in the ART system, including refusal of
services. If women of color use known donors
at higher rates, they will be disproportionately
exposed not only to the disparities in access
Queer Women Of Color Family Formation
to care, which likely affect fertility outcomes,
but also the potential increased legal risk asso-
ciated with a do-it-yourself approach. Future
epidemiological research should address this
question because it has important implications
for reproductive justice and health disparities
and could leave queer women of color legally
vulnerable in custody disputes. States that
require medical intervention to establish intent
for custody should consider the disproportionate
impact this may have on families of color.
During the family formation process, biologi-
cal reproduction brings gender, sexuality, race,
culture, and ethnicity into play through queer
women’s individual beliefs, historical context,
and their interactions with the medical and legal
systems, which hold their own power and influ-
ence. Our findings demonstrate the need for pol-
icymakers and medical providers serving queer
women of color to address these colliding forces.
More data focused on LBQ women of color
should be collected and examined for differences
by racial and ethnic groups. These differences
could drive health and legal disparities. If so, a
policy response would be warranted.
Limitations and Future Directions
Our exploratory qualitative study highlights
areas for further research, particularly those
that can be addressed with epidemiological
approaches to tease out disparities in donor
selection, medical access, and experiences
within queer communities of color. Our study,
with its qualitative design, was not intended
to draw conclusions that can be generally
applied across a population, nor was it origi-
nally designed with the intent of representing
the perspectives of LBQ women of color. Had
it been, perhaps the questions or interviewers
could have been attuned to issues of identity
during the interview process, which may have
resulted in richer data. Although we believed it
worthwhile to highlight the voices of women
of color in our sample, the retrospective nature
of this intent reflects that our larger study,
did, in fact, center Whiteness. Our research
team was largely White identified, which may
have had an impact on our recruitment efforts,
certainly affected our lenses, and perhaps also
influenced what our participants were willing
to share in their interviews. A shared queer
identity between research team members and
participants was a reason many participants
129
agreed to be a part of the study, reflecting the
importance of “insider status” that has been
richly discussed elsewhere (see LaSala, 2003).
Yet we failed to conceptualize “insider status”
as intersectional, focusing on our shared gender
and sexuality rather than attending explicitly
to race, ethnicity, and culture as well. These
lessons provide insights that should be reflected
in our future work, and we hope will inform
others’ work as well.
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