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BENEFICENT MATERNALISM:
Argentine Motherhood in Comparative Perspective,
1880–1920
Karen Mead
“
T he Beneficent Society . . . is an impregnable fortress against which all
hostile actions must fail.”1 Argentine president Carlos Pellegrini thus
described the nation’s most prominent association of women in 1892, to
the disappointment of an ambitious physician who had hostile action very
much in mind. Although little known outside Argentina, the Beneficent
Society (Sociedad de Beneficencia) merits attention for its welfare activ-
ism, as well as its political conduct, which lent the agency an aura of im-
pregnability in the contentious arenas of social policy and public health.
The history of the organization between 1880 and 1920 suggests how Ar-
gentine women attempted to take advantage of structural opportunities
to participate in the state-building efforts that characterized the era, as
well as how they used available notions of gender to enhance their ma-
ternalist prerogatives.
I use the term maternalism here to refer broadly to any organized
activism on the part of women who claim that they possess gendered qual-
ifications to understand and assist less-fortunate women and, especially,
children. Out of a potentially vast array of organizations that fit this de-
scription, I focus on those that sought a relationship with government as a
means to enhance their effectiveness. Such organizations came into their
own during the late nineteenth century in a number of Western nations
and have received the attention of historians interested not only in women,
but also in the architecture of so-called welfare states.2 Early attempts on
the part of Seth Koven and Sonya Michel to generalize across geographi-
cal boundaries celebrated the ways in which maternalist ideologies chal-
lenged the supposed boundaries between public and private during the
years between 1880 and 1920. By using the private “virtues” of domestic-
ity to legitimate women’s public relationship to politics and the state, ma-
ternalists played an important role in determining how the state defined
the needs of mothers and children as well as in creating institutions and
programs to address those needs.3
What emerges less clearly in comparative literature about mater-
nalism, although it is often pronounced in case studies, is the importance
of sociocultural issues to the strategies and accomplishments of wom-
en’s agencies. The Argentine case reflects a similar situation in the North
Atlantic region during this period of rapid social and economic change
associated with industrialization and the geographic mobility of capital
and labor. Maternalists demanded the expansion of government respon-
sibility, which in some measure required redefinition of the nation and a
reassessment of citizens’ relationships to the state. Women’s efforts to
influence social policy were shaped not only by available political oppor-
tunities, but also by their ideas about gender and the modern nation.4 The
particular ways in which women accommodated their agendas to larger
nationalisms and made themselves necessary to modernization projects
helped determine which women’s groups achieved nationally influential
roles. In Argentina, women with the greatest impact on social policy and
enduring constructions of gender were those who convincingly embraced
national progress, as the administrative elite defined it, and applied them-
selves to maintaining social order in its wake.5
The equation of women with social order raises questions that pre-
occupy a less optimistic current of maternalist historiography. Which
groups controlled the way maternal values were celebrated in public, and
to what extent did emphasis on women in the family promote or preclude
feminist politics with a greater emphasis on women’s social equality and
economic independence?6 A related question concerns the relationships
among maternalists and their “beneficiaries.” Was maternalism a subset
of paternalist philanthropy, which functioned as a “deliberate depoliticiz-
ing strategy” vital to the positive forms of power exercised by the modern
state, as cynical analysts have asked?7
To assess these questions in the Argentine context, I compare the
Beneficent Society to analogous women’s associations in France and the
United States during the same period. I initially chose these two coun-
tries as exemplars of different forms of government within the Koven and
Michel paradigm outlined below. Yet the more satisfying elements of the
comparison come from the usefulness of these nations as alternate loca-
122 JOURNAL OF WOMEN’S HISTORY AUTUMN
Comparisons with France and the United States also sharpen the
discussion of such varied topics as Catholic cultural politics, national co-
hesion, and different strategies and rhetoric of amateur and professional
social workers. In approaching these issues, I have relied on the second-
ary literature generated by scholars working on these two countries. Late-
nineteenth-century Argentines were also interested in international
comparisons. Systematic study of foreign health and welfare programs
was common among physicians and female activists, and Beneficent Soci-
ety members were able to use the diplomatic network of the state to re-
quest information about philanthropic endeavors in all countries where
the Argentine government was represented. Such information, socias
hoped, would “permit the Society to establish comparisons and take ad-
vantage of the results.”12 I proceed in a similar spirit.
became skilled in using Rivadavia’s name to defend the agency from at-
tacks, placing themselves in the mainstream of nationalist liberalism.
By the 1870s, the Beneficent Society had established an Asylum for
Insane Women (Hospital Nacional de Alienadas), Children’s Hospital (Hos-
pital de Niños), and several orphanages. Socias’ attention to institution-
building intensified after 1876, when the agency surrendered ninety-eight
girls’ schools to the Argentine Department of Education. In 1880, when
vexing questions about the nation’s political organization were settled,
the city of Buenos Aires became the nation’s capital. As the government of
the Province of Buenos Aires abandoned the city for a new capital at La
Plata, provincial leaders ceded a variety of functions and agencies—in-
cluding the Beneficent Society—to the new national government.
In explaining the elevation of the Beneficent Society to the Ministry
of the Interior, Minister Antonio del Viso did not refer directly to socias’
willingness to volunteer their labor but stressed that their administrative
efficiency was the “best guarantee that the monies of the Nation would
be judiciously applied to their compassionate destination.”15 In addition,
the society had no formal ties to the Catholic Church, which was impor-
tant to secularizing forces in the new government. The women were well-
organized, experienced, and placed a premium on working cooperatively
at a time when men involved in organizing public health services were
competitive, vying with each other for administrative positions and care-
less with government monies.
Within a few years, however, the country’s most prestigious pub-
lic health professionals—usually referred to as higienistas (hygienists)—
organized Asistencia Pública (Public Assistance), which would become
the other primary health and welfare agency in the capital. Frustrated by
the government’s unwillingness to elevate Asistencia Pública from the level
of municipal government, its leaders sought alliances with the men of
the national government’s Department of Hygiene in repeated attempts
to assume command of Beneficent Society establishments and the rela-
tively handsome budget Congress voted to them each year. In this com-
petitive climate, the society not only retained autonomy over its internal
affairs, but also continued to expand the number and size of establish-
ments it constructed and administered as the government’s agent. Socias’
control over not only asylums but also medical facilities chagrined public
health officials who were not employed by the Beneficent Society.
Immigration into the country produced exponential population
growth, however, leaving many ill, abandoned, and destitute people for
these agencies to attend. In Buenos Aires alone, there were nearly ten times
as many people in 1914 as there were in 1870, and one-half again as many
arrived and left before census takers could count them.16 Following a
2000 KAREN MEAD 125
ders that staffed most local hospitals.32 The beneficent had little desire for
Argentine girls to become nuns.
As Argentine women’s associations expanded their membership af-
ter 1890, and applied themselves more consciously to class conciliation
after 1900, the Beneficent Society became increasingly important to its sup-
porters in government as an exemplar of proliferating activism. Yet the
events of 1890 had proved an important turning point for the society as
well. As they beat back repeated attempts of male-run agencies to take
over their institutions, socias used the press to make known their opinions
and expand the image of women.
Although the sharpening economic difficulties of 1889 and 1890 in-
tensified hygienists’ efforts to relieve the Beneficent Society of its admin-
istrative responsibilities, ultimately, the crisis worked to the society’s
advantage, as its spokespersons attributed to socias and their clients the
characteristics most critically absent from male conduct of public life. Tra-
ditionally feminine abnegation and self-sacrifice, for example, became spe-
cific virtues that enabled poor women to stretch inadequate incomes far
enough to hold families together in an age of materialism, just as the so-
ciety held the national family together despite governmental financial
profligacy.
The biggest showdown between higienistas and socias was over the
Casa de Expósitos, an establishment where parents could leave unwanted
newborns with total anonymity. Hygienists wanted access to the institu-
tion in order to study questions of illegitimacy, child abandonment, and
—especially critical in the late 1880s—rising infant mortality rates, which
defied their notions of progress. In 1888, the society had defended its right
to administer the home by arguing that socias’ maternal instincts were more
appropriate to the care not only of orphaned inmates but also of troubled
women who might reclaim their children in the future.33
National Department of Hygiene physicians were not persuaded by
this argument, however, and redoubled their efforts to reorganize the home
along the lines “consecrated by the experience of what has occurred in
France,” where anonymous admissions were no longer allowed.34 In her
official response to the Department of Hygiene, society president Isabel
Hale de Pearson did not argue with its technical precepts (many of which
the home’s doctors had supported) and agreed that speaking of the French
model was the “equivalent of saying that the prescriptions correspond to
the most advanced principles of science,” but warned that the department’s
proposed implementation policies were impractical.35
Forced by the government’s financial crisis to resort to public solici-
tation of donations for the Casa de Expósitos, socias were met with a gen-
erous response, not only from large donors but also from scores of people
130 JOURNAL OF WOMEN’S HISTORY AUTUMN
Klaus has shown how the structure of the profession not only left room
for a woman-oriented policy network but also allowed women far greater
opportunities to practice medicine, both as doctors and nurses.44
Klaus had also provided key insights into the impact of immigration
on maternalism. In the United States as in Argentina, population was in-
creasing rapidly, but far more growth was due to immigration than repro-
duction of native-born whites. The fear of “race suicide” on the part of the
white middle class bred their concern for “race betterment” with regard
to immigrants and nonwhite people. “Race betterment” was not as urgent
an issue for U.S. politicians and physicians as was the “depopulation cri-
sis” in France, but it was compelling enough to promote a supportive po-
litical environment for women dedicated to the cause.45 President Theodore
Roosevelt used the concept “race suicide” in speeches designed to encour-
age white women to adopt certain family values, but the national gov-
ernment took no organized initiative in promoting such behavior. 46 U.S.
women, therefore, encountered fewer obstacles to their own programs than
did their counterparts in France.
Historian Molly Ladd-Taylor has devised a typology that identifies
two principal maternalist approaches to the situation of poor women and
children in the United States.47 “Sentimental” maternalists were typified
by the National Congress of Mothers, which was a group of women who
were traditionalists on women’s place—their own and their clients’—
within the home and family. “Progressive” maternalists were typified by
those associated with Hull House, the Chicago settlement house where
innovative reformers created a supportive milieu for activist middle-class
women and their clients among the neighborhood’s immigrant commu-
nity. Although progressives also encouraged poor mothers to stay home,
they believed in their right to choose between marriage and career, and
understood their contributions in terms of professional expertise as well
as feminine capacity for nurture.
In spite of differences, however, both types of U.S. maternalists were
moved by an ideology whose appeal, according to Ladd-Taylor, “cannot
be understood apart from the white Protestant alarm over ‘race sui-
cide’ in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.”48 As the popu-
lation became more ethnically diverse, maternalists sought to “remind
Anglo-American women of their moral and civic responsibility to bear
(and stay home with) children and to teach immigrants ‘American’ family
patterns.”49
Such anxieties were even more pronounced in Argentina, where im-
migrants formed a larger percentage of the population than in the United
States. Early statesmen had hoped for northern European immigrants to
cultivate the vast interior of the country. After the 1870s, however, the
2000 KAREN MEAD 133
of their history with them) to share jobs they considered theirs.66 Women
seeking entry into social work professions were thus ideologically stranded
with a scientific discourse that alienated other maternalists, and a claim to
nurture that, in the opinion of hygienists, qualified them to volunteer but
not take on paid professional roles.
Moreover, while the social turbulence associated with an organized
working class had once raised hopes for achievement of class conciliation
among women of different backgrounds in the home, by 1910, politicians
and even the clergy sought a greater role for themselves. Universitarias
were drawn to the rights-based discourse of socialists, but the Socialist
Party did not fully endorse the economic independence for women that
universitarias wanted for themselves, although it sheltered some of their
projects.67 At the same time, important Catholic prelates who sought lead-
ership of a new social Catholicism moved to capture the leadership of
several associations that laywomen had created. In the future, priests would
seek to control the unionization and evangelization of working women.68
Teodelina Alvear de Lezica, a leader of two Catholic groups, saw the benefit
of a formal alliance among important women’s associations, which could
preserve and enlarge their prerogatives. However, her proposal was re-
jected by the Beneficent Society, whose first loyalty was to the govern-
ment it served.69
In many ways, the Beneficent Society remained an impregnable for-
tress, but one that was increasingly less central to the defense of the state.
When Hipólito Yrigoyen became president in 1916, he donated his salary
to the society, continuing the courtly gesture he had begun in the 1890s
when he was a normal school teacher. This personal donation, however,
symbolized the increasing dependence of the society on elite generosity.
Expansion of their budget and official commitment to new projects was
not forthcoming. With the cooperation of scientifically trained women,
the society might have competed more successfully for new funding. With
the cooperation of the Señoras of Saint Vincent de Paul, the society might
have used grassroots Catholic support to leverage more political influence.
As it was, each group of women labored in a separate sphere, and, by the
1930s, the state had become a “surrogate father through the services of
(male) physicians, whose loving attention to babies and their mothers”
was free of unwanted advice from women’s groups.70
Conclusion
Argentine maternalists greatly expanded social assistance for women
and children between 1880 and 1920, making themselves a conduit through
which state resources could flow to these groups. Without the Beneficent
2000 KAREN MEAD 139
Society it would have taken much longer to organize quality medical care
for indigent women and children. Along with Catholic associations, socias
offered other kinds of aid to working-class women as well, and their
maternalist vision was much more generous than the biosocial evolution-
ary functionalism of the era’s leading hygienists with which it competed.
Although Argentine anticlericals tended to dismiss religious women
as slaves of the Catholic Church, for the turn of the century there is more
evidence to suggest that women used Catholic ideas to expand their range
of useful activities into areas that the local clergy regarded as secondary.
Thousands of middle-class women who wished to participate in mater-
nalist action were welcomed in such Catholic charities as the Señoras of
Saint Vincent de Paul by laywomen more energetic than their spiritual
advisors. Their allegiance did not represent an overt rejection of universitaria
programs, but, rather, the inconceivability of joining those women who
were truly privileged by university education. The increasing importance
of Catholicism to national models of motherhood was disturbing to uni-
versitarias, but it was not the only thing to prevent cooperation.
In Argentina, possibilities for alliance were more limited than they
were in the United States, in part because of structural development. Ma-
trons of the Beneficent Society showed considerable political creativity in
expanding their responsibilities and prestige within a “weak” government
during the 1880s and 1890s. The Argentine government was “weak,” how-
ever, because it was new, not because it was committed to a limited, feder-
alist structure. As the state bureaucracy solidified, male hygienists acquired
the organizational momentum to control funding for new endeavors. They
could not dislodge the Beneficent Society, but, as a permanent fixture in a
now “strong” government, the society was no more open to the creation
of positions for educated women than were male-run agencies.
The beneficent were unable to adjust their notions of female gender
to include professional expertise, in contrast to the way they had earlier
expanded them to claim economic efficiency. This failure limited the abil-
ity of other women to follow them into government, limited their own
potential since their organization came to appear archaic amid increas-
ingly innovative hygienists, and, perhaps, limited the ways in which wom-
en of the popular classes might claim the right to state assistance.
If, as sociologist Lisa D. Brush has suggested, “maternalism is femi-
nism for hard times,”71 then it seems prudent to remember that, between
1880 and 1920, women in Argentina (like women in France) stood a far
better chance of receiving a hearing if they demanded it on behalf of their
citizen children rather than themselves. All maternalists recognized this
on one level or another, and yet they were unable to cooperate to their
mutual advantage. Although the entrance of middle-class men into the
140 JOURNAL OF WOMEN’S HISTORY AUTUMN
university and the professions provided the basis for alliances between
all manner of men, it seemed to have had the opposite effect on women in
public life. Maternalism did not cause this, but its espousal of dependence
and protection continued to direct women’s attention away from each
other, in spite of its glorification of the potential they shared.
NOTES
Support from a Mellon fellowship and the Women’s Studies Program at Wash-
ington University in Saint Louis, Missouri, as well as the enthusiastic participa-
tion of the students in my “Women and the State” class encouraged me to write
this article. I would like to thank John Chasteen, Stacey Robertson, Joan Supplee,
Liann Tsoukas, Devaughn Williams, and the editors of and anonymous readers
for the Journal of Women’s History for their perceptive suggestions that have im-
proved this manuscript.
1
Quoted in Emilio R. Coni, Memorias de un Médico Higienista: Contribución a
la historia de la higiene pública y social argentina (1967–1917) (Buenos Aires: Talleres
Gráficos A. Flaiban, 1918), 312.
2
Seth Koven and Sonya Michel, eds., Mothers of a New World: Maternalist
Politics and the Origins of Welfare States (New York: Routledge, 1993); Gisela Bock
and Pat Thane, eds., Maternity and Gender Politics: Women and the Rise of European
Welfare States, 1880–1950s (London: Routledge, 1991); and Linda Gordon, ed.,
Women, the State, and Welfare (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1990).
3
Seth Koven and Sonya Michel, “Womanly Duties: Maternalist Politics and
the Origins of Welfare States in France, Germany, Great Britain, and the United
States, 1880–1920,” American Historical Review 95, no. 4 (1990): 1076–108.
4
See Miriam Cohen and Michael Hanagan, “The Politics of Gender and the
Making of the Welfare State, 1900–1940: A Comparative Perspective,” Journal of
Social History 24, no. 3 (1990): 469–84.
5
On Argentine notions of progress during this period, see Karen Mead,
“Gendering the Obstacles to Progress in Positivist Argentina, 1880–1920,” His-
panic American Historical Review 77, no. 4 (1997): 645–75.
6
Lynn Y. Weiner, “Defining the Issues,” Journal of Women’s History 5, no. 2
(1993): 96–131, esp. 96. Weiner’s article was part of a larger section entitled, “Ma-
ternalism as a Paradigm,” a discussion among several historians.
7
Jacques Donzelot, The Policing of Families, trans. Robert Hurley (New York:
Pantheon, 1979), 55.
8
Koven and Michel, “Womanly Duties,” 1093–94.
9
See Jane Lewis, “Women’s Agency, Maternalism, and Welfare,” Gender and
History 6, no. 1 (1994): 117–23.
10
For example, Carlos Correa Luna, Historia de la Sociedad de Beneficencia, 2
2000 KAREN MEAD 141
Nineteenth-Century France (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1984); and
Donzelot, Policing of Families.
21
Smith, Ladies of the Leisure Class, 159. For constraints on individualist poli-
tics during the Third Republic, see Karen M. Offen, “Depopulation, Nationalism,
and Feminism in Fin-de-Siècle France,” American Historical Review 89 (June 1984):
648–76, esp. 665–71. See also Judith F. Stone, “The Republican Brotherhood: Gen-
der and Ideology,” in Gender and the Politics of Social Reform in France, 1870–1914,
ed. Elinor A. Accampo, Rachel G. Fuchs, and Mary Lynn Stewart (Baltimore, Md.:
Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995), 28–58.
22
Offen, “Depopulation”; and Alisa Klaus, Every Child a Lion: The Origins of
Maternal and Infant Health Policy in the United States and France, 1890–1920 (Ithaca,
N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1993), 91–93.
23
On legislative enthusiasm for hygienist expertise, see Rachel G. Fuchs,
“The Right to Life: Paul Strauss and the Politics of Motherhood,” in Gender and the
Politics of Social Reform, 82–105.
24
See Jane Jenson, “Representations of Gender: Policies to ‘Protect’ Women
Workers and Infants in France and the United States before 1914,” in Women, the
State, and Welfare, 152–87. See also Mary Lynn Stewart, Women, Work, and the French
State: Labour Protection and Social Patriarchy, 1879–1919 (Kingston, Canada: McGill-
Queen’s University Press, 1989).
25
Steven C. Hause, with Anne R. Kenney, “The Development of the Catho-
lic Women’s Suffrage Movement in France, 1896–1922,” Catholic Historical Review
67, no. 1 (1981): 11–30.
26
See Joan Wallach Scott, Only Paradoxes To Offer: French Feminists and the
Rights of Man (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1996), chap. 4; Stone,
“Republican Brotherhood,” 28–58; and Offen, “Depopulation,” 664–76.
27
Offen, “Depopulation.”
28
For an account of the first hospital sisters in Buenos Aires, see Olga M.
García de D’Agosino, “La Municipalidad, el Hospital General de Hombres y las
Hermanas de la Caridad,” in II Jornadas de la Historia de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires
(Buenos Aires: Instituto Histórico de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires, 1988), 283–99.
29
Ernest Allen Crider, “Modernization and Human Welfare: The Asistencia
Pública and Buenos Aires, 1883–1910” (Ph.D. diss., Ohio State University, 1976).
30
“Quod apostolici muneris” (1878), and “Rerum novarum” (1891), both in
The Great Encyclical Letters of Pope Leo XIII, pref. John J. Wynne (New York: Benziger
Brothers, 1903); and Mary E. Hobgood, Catholic Social Teaching and Economic Theory:
Paradigms in Conflict (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1991), chap. 2.
31
Las Conferencias de Señoras de la Sociedad de San Vicente de Paul en la República
Argentina. En el 25° aniversario de la fundación del Consejo General, 1889–1914 (Buenos
Aires: Compañía Sud-Americana de Billetes de Banco, 1914), 35–37.
32
In 1907, there was one small community of German nuns, one commu-
2000 KAREN MEAD 143
nity to run the Irish orphanage, one larger company of Spanish Siervas de María,
while there were twelve French orders—most numerous and most important in
nursing/administrative works—and a somewhat lesser number of Italian orders
which had the largest number of schools and centers of religious propaganda. See
Pedro Santos Martínez, “Religión e immigración en 1907: Un informe del Arzo-
bispado de Buenos Aires,” Archivum: Revista de la Junta de Historia Eclesiastica Ar-
gentina 16 (1992): 127–44, esp. 140–43.
33
“Reclamación de la Sociedad de Beneficencia,” La Prensa, 14 October
1888, 1.
34
Presidente de la Comisión to Presidenta [Isabel Hale de Pearson], April
1891, Casa de Expósitos, leg. 101, fol. 178, SB/AGN.
35
Hale de Pearson to Minister of the Interior, 20 April 1891, reprinted in
Intendencia Municipal, Patronato y Asistencia de la Infancia en la Capital de la
República: Trabajos de la Comisión Especial (Buenos Aires: Establecimiento “El Cen-
sor,” 1892), 345.
36
Sociedad de Beneficencia, Origen y desenvolvimiento de la Sociedad de Be-
neficencia de la Capital, 1823–1912 (Buenos Aires: Establecimiento Tipográfico M.
Rodríguez Giles, 1913), 280.
37
Donzelot, Policing of Families, 25.
38
Rachel G. Fuchs, “France in a Comparative Perspective,” in Gender and
the Politics of Social Reform, 157–87, esp. 161.
39
This section of my argument follows that of Kathryn Kish Sklar, “The
Historical Foundations of Women’s Power in the Creation of the American Wel-
fare State, 1830–1930,” in Mothers of a New World, 43–93. See also Lori D. Ginzberg,
Women and the Work of Benevolence: Morality, Class, and Politics in the Nineteenth-
Century United States (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1990).
40
See Theda Skocpol, Protecting Soldiers and Mothers: The Political Origins of
Social Policy in the United States (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press,
1992).
41
See Eileen Boris, “The Power of Motherhood: Black and White Activist
Women Redefine the ‘Political,’” in Mothers of a New World, 213–44, Eileen Boris,
“What about the Working of the Working Mother?” Journal of Women’s History 5,
no. 2 (1993): 104–7; Linda Gordon, “Black and White Visions of Welfare: Women’s
Welfare Activism, 1890–1945,” Journal of American History 78, no. 2 (1991): 559–90;
and Darlene Clark Hine, “‘We Specialize in the Wholly Impossible’: The Philan-
thropic Work of Black Women,” in Lady Bountiful Revisited: Women, Philanthropy,
and Power, ed. Kathleen D. McCarthy (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University
Press, 1990), 70–93.
42
Sklar, “Historical Foundations of Women’s Power,” 62.
43
Klaus, Every Child a Lion, 13; and Robyn Muncy, Creating a Female Do-
minion in American Reform, 1890–1935 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991),
58–60.
144 JOURNAL OF WOMEN’S HISTORY AUTUMN
44
Klaus, Every Child a Lion, 43–87.
45
On the eugenic sensibilities of the Progressive movement, see Alisa Klaus,
“Depopulation and Race Suicide: Maternalism and Pronatalist Ideologies in France
and the United States” in Mothers of a New World, 188–212.
46
Ibid., 190.
47
A concise statement of this typology is Molly Ladd-Taylor, “Toward
Defining Maternalism in U.S. History,” Journal of Women’s History 5, no. 2 (1993):
110–13.
48
Molly Ladd-Taylor, Mother-Work: Women, Child Welfare, and the State, 1890–
1930 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1994), 5.
49
Ladd-Taylor, Mother-Work, quotation on 5, 49–63. Klaus also stresses the
importance of “race suicide” and “scientific motherhood” with more emphasis
on the work of public health doctors in Klaus, Every Child a Lion, 31–41, 139–57.
See also Linda Gordon, Pitied But Not Entitled: Single Mothers and the History of
Welfare, 1890–1935 (New York: Free Press, 1994), 46–49, 84–88; and Joanne L.
Goodwin, “An American Experiment in Paid Motherhood: The Implementation
of Mothers’ Pensions in Early-Twentieth-Century Chicago,” Gender and History 4,
no. 3 (1992): 323–42.
50
See Samuel L. Baily, “The Adjustment of Italian Immigrants in Buenos
Aires and New York, 1870–1914,” American Historical Review 88 (April 1983): 281–
305.
51
Buenos Aires, Comisión Directiva del Censo, Censo general de población,
edificación, comercio e industrias de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires (Buenos Aires: Compañía
Sud-Americana de Billetes de Banco, 1889).
52
This optimism was especially prevalent around the 1910 Independence
Centennial. See, for example, Roberto J. Payró, “Criolla,” in La Nación: 1810, 25 de
Mayo 1910 (Buenos Aires: La Nación, 1910), 171–74.
53
Actas, 16 November 1903, leg. 13., fol. 256, SB/AGN.
54
Emile Daireaux, La vie et les moeurs a la Plata, 2d ed. (Paris: Hachette, 1889),
199.
55
A reporter from a journal devoted to social welfare recorded the event in
“Los premios la virtud,” Anales del Patronato de la Infancia 15 (May 1907): 142–48,
quotation on 143.
56
Ibid., 147.
57
Ibid., 148.
58
For an account of the Beneficent Society pressuring commercial estab-
lishments to hire young women to spare them from sweated labor in their homes,
see, for example, “Sociedad de Beneficencia,” Boletín de la Unión Industrial Argen-
tina 109 (23 April 1889): 2–3. Thanks to Fernando Rocchi for bringing this to my
attention.
2000 KAREN MEAD 145
59
Alicia Moreau, Emancipación civil de la mujer (1918), translated in Katherine
S. Dreier, Five Months in the Argentine from a Woman’s Point of View, 1918 to 1919
(New York: Frederic Fairchild Sherman, 1920), 244–47.
60
Asunción Lavrin, Women, Feminism, and Social Change in Argentina, Chile,
and Uruguay, 1890–1940 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1995), 26–32.
61
On cooperation among women of diverse social ranks, see Molly Ladd-
Taylor, “‘My Work Came out of Agony and Grief’: Mothers and the Making of the
Sheppard Towner Act,” in Mothers of a New World, 321–42.
62
Cecilia Grierson, “Escuelas de Enfermeras,” Argentina Médica 5, no. 13
(30 March 1907): 209.
63
“El trabajo de las mujeres y de los niños. Gestiones de las Universitarias
Argentinas,” La Prensa, 10 October 1909, 8.
64
In 1918, six thousand pesos of government subsidies went to the progres-
sive maternalists, whereas nearly seven hundred thousand went to sentimental-
ist associations. The budget for the Beneficent Society’s government facilities was
over four million pesos. See Emilio R. Coni, Higiene Social, Asistencia y previsión
social: Buenos Aires caritativo y previsor (Buenos Aires: Imprenta Emilio Spinelli,
1918).
65
Ernestina López, “La mujer argentina y la obra social,” in La Nación, 151–
61, quotation on 152.
66
See Lavrin, Women, Feminism, and Social Change, 106–8.
67
See Asunción Lavrin, “Women, Labor, and the Left: Argentina and Chile,
1890–1925,” Journal of Women’s History 1, no. 2 (1989): 88–116; and María Silvia Di
Liscia and Ana María Rodríguez, “El Socialismo y la Iglesia. Aportes sobre la
condición femenina, 1918–1929,” in La Mitad del País: La Mujer en la sociedad
argentina, ed. Lidia Knetcher and Marta Panaia (Buenos Aires: Centro Editor de
Latino América, 1994), 341–53.
68
Sandra McGee Deutsch, “The Catholic Church, Work, and Womanhood
in Argentina, 1890–1930,” Gender and History 3, no. 3 (1991): 304–25.
69
Actas, 31 August 1914, leg. 18., fol. 222, SB/AGN. See also Karen Mead,
“Oligarchs, Doctors, and Nuns”(Ph.D. diss., University of California, Santa Bar-
bara, 1994), chap. 8, esp. 366–68.
70
Lavrin, Women, Feminism, and Social Change, 124.
71
See Lisa D. Brush, “Love, Toil, and Trouble: Motherhood and Feminist
Politics,” Signs 21, no. 2 (1996): 429–54.