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The Guardian
20-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
‘How did I feel giving the baby away? I never thought of it like that': inside a weekend retreat for surrogate mothers
As I walk out of Hobart airport's small arrivals hall, I immediately spot the person I'm looking for. My contact, Mollie D'Arcy, is standing at the exit, heavily pregnant. Her baby bump isn't the only giveaway – she's holding up a laminated sign in hot pink writing, sticky taped to a retractable light sabre toy. It reads, 'Surrogates on Tour.' It's mid-September 2024 and D'Arcy is this year's Surrogacy Sisterhood Retreat organiser and captain. Since its inception in 2018, it's the first time this event, a roving annual weekend away for surrogates past and present, has made it to Tasmania. 'I'm pretty happy to shout loud and proud that I'm a surrogate,' D'Arcy says. I've been liaising with D'Arcy for weeks. She has helped me gain the other surrogates' consent for me to be the first journalist allowed access to the retreat for a podcast series, Secrets We Keep, on the fertility industry. As we make our way to the luggage collection area, about a dozen excited surrogates begin to trickle in. Most have taken early flights from Queensland and Victoria and two have made it all the way from Western Australia and New Zealand. In no time, the carousel area is gushing with surrogates from all walks of life, ranging from their early 30 to late 40s – admin officers, educators, PR specialists, entrepreneurs and lawyers. Most already know each other, having met at previous retreats or online. All tick the one entry criterion for being here: they've carried a baby for someone else. 'I don't think there's another word that could describe it better than sisterhood,' says family creation lawyer, former surrogate and egg donor, Sarah Jefford. Jefford is one of the Surrogacy Sisterhood Retreat's founders, inspired by a retreat for Canadian surrogates. 'We'll have some surrogates who are pregnant, some that have just birthed, some that haven't even gone through the process yet, and we share all the different aspects of good, positive journeys or challenging or negative journeys,' she says. 'It's all welcome.' Sign up for our rundown of must-reads, pop culture and tips for the weekend, every Saturday morning Altruistic surrogacy is the only legal option for surrogacy in Australia; it's rare and heavily regulated. Jefford estimates there are between 130 and 150 altruistic surrogacy births in Australia each year and roughly 80% of these arrangements are between family members and friends, while 20% occur among strangers. Laws differ between states, but hopeful parents in Australia cannot pay a surrogate for carrying, or advertise they need a one to create a family. Women who wish to become surrogates must offer voluntarily. The regulatory environment has meant those seeking a surrogate, and those keen to be one, must turn to informal structures to find each other – the most significant one being a closed Facebook group where intended parents and surrogate candidates post their photos, introductions and bona fides as potential parents or surrogates. Then, interested parties slide into each other's DMs, hoping to match with each other. I was curious to learn more about the women who lend their wombs to carry a baby for strangers they'd met online. As we climb into a convoy of cars to head to the farm in Bothwell, an hour's drive from Hobart, where the retreat is being held, D'Arcy is busily pasting up 'Surrogacy Express' signs on each vehicle – also in hot pink writing. D'Arcy was exposed to surrogacy through working at an IVF clinic. She became fascinated by the concept after witnessing some of the first Tasmanian surrogacy arrangements come through the clinic, shortly after it became legal in 2012. 'I felt so deeply for these people who couldn't have a baby, knowing that I have always wanted a family. I really thought maybe I could be a surrogate. It felt like something I was capable of.' At the time, she had not yet had her own two children. 'Then, when I fell pregnant [with my first child] so easily, I thought, 'Wow, I could really help someone else do this',' she says. 'And then, when I was pregnant with my second child, I started researching how to become a surrogate.' D'Arcy stumbled across the Australian Surrogacy Community group on Facebook. She met some couples, but they didn't hit it off. Then she connected with a same-sex couple. 'I just really liked them. And after conversations via social media, when I met them in person, I just clicked with them really, really well.' When I met D'Arcy at the retreat, she was almost seven months into her second surrogacy pregnancy for the same couple. Over the weekend, the activities include chats around the fireplace, communal meals, nature walks, yoga and crafts. Every activity is optional, and some take place simultaneously. While the bulk of the Queensland contingent decides to drive out to see the snow, the Victorian and Tasmanian surrogates opt for a yoga class. Apart from mealtimes, no schedule is set. Through it all, there are deep and candid conversations about womanhood and motherhood. From the mundane logistics of parenting to surrogate heart-to-hearts: the venting of niggles or annoyances of their relationships (with their partners and with the intended parents they carried for) to detailed and graphic descriptions of intimate medical procedures. The mood is one of total release. But the one topic that dominates every conversation is pregnancy, and how pregnancy affected each of these surrogates. Even under the best, low-risk circumstances, pregnancy takes its toll on mind and body, so I ask, 'Why go through all that for someone else?' Time and time again, the women report that they want to help someone else create a family. But that isn't the only reason – another powerful driver many raise is the need to satiate a deep, personal feeling of 'not being done'. Sarah Jefford became a surrogate and an egg donor after an excruciating IVF experience. Once she finally became a mother of two, she felt she wanted 'to have another pregnancy and birth and not raise the baby'. 'If you're wanting to be pregnant and then you find out you're pregnant, it's just the best,' Jefford adds. She describes this feeling as 'baby lust'. Some surrogates, such as Queensland educator SJ, who did not want to use her real name, told me that upon birthing her two children, she experienced a persistent feeling of 'being unfinished'. Although she felt her own family was complete, she couldn't shake a yearning to experience pregnancy and childbirth again. She would wake in the middle of the night to research how to become a surrogate. Tasmanian trail runner Chelsea had a daughter and didn't want any more children of her own, but also wanted to experience birthing again, while helping someone else experience parenthood. 'Now that I knew the course of the race, I thought I could try and do it and be a bit more present within my body and run a better race, so to speak.' Sign up to Saved for Later Catch up on the fun stuff with Guardian Australia's culture and lifestyle rundown of pop culture, trends and tips after newsletter promotion Chelsea offered to carry for a same-sex couple she knew. They used an egg donor (also a friend) and the sperm of one parent. She found out she was carrying twins during a check-up, where the dads and egg donor were also present. 'The reaction from everyone was slightly different. They had tears of joy. I had tears of joy, but a little bit of fear of the unknown, because [twins weren't] something we had talked about beforehand as a possibility.' The babies were monochorionic diamniotic (MCDA) twins; they shared one placenta. That meant Chelsea required significantly more medical monitoring. She gave birth to healthy identical twin girls three months before the retreat. 'The number one question that I get about being a surrogate is how did you feel about giving the baby away? Or in this case, babies. And I never, ever thought of it that way. I always thought of it that I was growing their babies, not that I was giving anything away. 'And once the girls were here it was just amazing to see them [the parents] within the space of a day, just become the amazing dads that I knew that they would be.' Chelsea refers to the four people – the two dads, the egg donor and herself – who created the twins as a 'team'. They experienced the whole process together: from the embryo transfer to monitoring appointments, and they continue to spend time with each other. But as I sat around the fireplace and shared meals with these women at various stages of pregnancy and postpartum, I couldn't help but think they'd giving up a lot to carry for free. Pregnancy and childbirth are not free. In Australia, while payment for surrogates is illegal, intended parents must pay for all their surrogate's 'reasonable expenses', including medical expenses, maternity clothes and lost wages. 'But then there's a question mark because the legislation says it must be reasonable. What's reasonable? Reasonable for you might be different to reasonable for somebody else,' Jefford explains. 'Most surrogates will use their own money to pay for things, not because the intended parents are stingy, but because we are the sort of people that will just be like, 'I'll just pay for hospital parking myself, or I'll pay for the maternity pads.'' In December last year, the federal government announced a review of Australia's surrogacy laws. The review aims to identify reforms and propose harmonised laws across the country. A response to the review is due by the end of July. When Australia's surrogacy laws were drafted, legislators opted for the altruistic surrogacy model as it's often deemed ethically superior to commercial surrogacy, which is susceptible to human trafficking and the exploitation of vulnerable women. Jefford has long been opposed to paid surrogacy but recently has come to favour a compensated model of surrogacy in which surrogates are perhaps paid some amount of money, 'as if it's a job'. 'I used to say, when we introduce money into surrogacy, we commodify women and children. What I say now is it's much more nuanced than that,' she says. Jefford explains the idea of compensated surrogacy is different from paying a fee in exchange for a baby. 'That is human trafficking and it's illegal. 'Pregnancy is hard work and risky,' she says. 'This woman comes along and says, 'I'll do this for free'. And I think, 'Well, I'm not giving legal advice for free, and the IVF clinic is not giving free IVF treatment. Why is it that we think that she should be unpaid for what she's doing?'' In Australia, before intended parents and surrogates are legally allowed to undergo surrogacy, they must attend various counselling sessions to ensure they are emotionally equipped to go through the process, that it is consensual, and there is no exploitation. During these sessions, intended parents and surrogates discuss thorny issues such as body autonomy, what happens if anything goes wrong with the pregnancy, what happens if there are signs of genetic abnormalities in the embryo, or any complications that could endanger the life of the surrogate. The aim is to set expectations beforehand, to avoid issues once the baby is born. Despite all the guardrails, things can go sour. At the retreat, surrogates share horror stories about some relationship breakdowns. There was one case in which the surrogate and intended parents had fallen out and were not on speaking terms until shortly before the birth. Another in which the intended parents failed to show up on the day of the birth, leaving the surrogate and her family to care for the baby for a few days, which was distressing. There have been more serious incidents that have ended up in court, one in which a surrogate absconded with the baby, another where a surrogate refused to relinquish the child and consent to a parentage order, the legal document that transfers parentage from the birth parents (usually the surrogate and her partner) to the intended parents. In both cases, the courts ruled in favour of the intended parents, after establishing it had been a surrogacy arrangement. The majority of surrogacy arrangements are successful, however. Surrogates at the retreat, such as D'Arcy, say their lives have been enriched by the experience. 'It's been beautiful to watch this modern family created and seeing all the love that's involved,' she says. Claudianna Blanco is a senior journalist and producer for LiSTNR. Secrets We Keep: By Any Means podcast is out now.
The Guardian
19-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
‘How did I feel giving the baby away? I never thought of it like that': inside a weekend retreat for surrogate mothers
As I walk out of Hobart airport's small arrivals hall, I immediately spot the person I'm looking for. My contact, Mollie D'Arcy, is standing at the exit, heavily pregnant. Her baby bump isn't the only giveaway – she's holding up a laminated sign in hot pink writing, sticky taped to a retractable light sabre toy. It reads, 'Surrogates on Tour.' It's mid-September 2024 and D'Arcy is this year's Surrogacy Sisterhood Retreat organiser and captain. Since its inception in 2018, it's the first time this event, a roving annual weekend away for surrogates past and present, has made it to Tasmania. 'I'm pretty happy to shout loud and proud that I'm a surrogate,' D'Arcy says. I've been liaising with D'Arcy for weeks. She has helped me gain the other surrogates' consent for me to be the first journalist allowed access to the retreat for a podcast series, Secrets We Keep, on the fertility industry. As we make our way to the luggage collection area, about a dozen excited surrogates begin to trickle in. Most have taken early flights from Queensland and Victoria and two have made it all the way from Western Australia and New Zealand. In no time, the carousel area is gushing with surrogates from all walks of life, ranging from their early 30 to late 40s – admin officers, educators, PR specialists, entrepreneurs and lawyers. Most already know each other, having met at previous retreats or online. All tick the one entry criterion for being here: they've carried a baby for someone else. 'I don't think there's another word that could describe it better than sisterhood,' says family creation lawyer, former surrogate and egg donor, Sarah Jefford. Jefford is one of the Surrogacy Sisterhood Retreat's founders, inspired by a retreat for Canadian surrogates. 'We'll have some surrogates who are pregnant, some that have just birthed, some that haven't even gone through the process yet, and we share all the different aspects of good, positive journeys or challenging or negative journeys,' she says. 'It's all welcome.' Sign up for our rundown of must-reads, pop culture and tips for the weekend, every Saturday morning Altruistic surrogacy is the only legal option for surrogacy in Australia; it's rare and heavily regulated. Jefford estimates there are between 130 and 150 altruistic surrogacy births in Australia each year and roughly 80% of these arrangements are between family members and friends, while 20% occur among strangers. Laws differ between states, but hopeful parents in Australia cannot pay a surrogate for carrying, or advertise they need a one to create a family. Women who wish to become surrogates must offer voluntarily. The regulatory environment has meant those seeking a surrogate, and those keen to be one, must turn to informal structures to find each other – the most significant one being a closed Facebook group where intended parents and surrogate candidates post their photos, introductions and bona fides as potential parents or surrogates. Then, interested parties slide into each other's DMs, hoping to match with each other. I was curious to learn more about the women who lend their wombs to carry a baby for strangers they'd met online. As we climb into a convoy of cars to head to the farm in Bothwell, an hour's drive from Hobart, where the retreat is being held, D'Arcy is busily pasting up 'Surrogacy Express' signs on each vehicle – also in hot pink writing. D'Arcy was exposed to surrogacy through working at an IVF clinic. She became fascinated by the concept after witnessing some of the first Tasmanian surrogacy arrangements come through the clinic, shortly after it became legal in 2012. 'I felt so deeply for these people who couldn't have a baby, knowing that I have always wanted a family. I really thought maybe I could be a surrogate. It felt like something I was capable of.' At the time, she had not yet had her own two children. 'Then, when I fell pregnant [with my first child] so easily, I thought, 'Wow, I could really help someone else do this',' she says. 'And then, when I was pregnant with my second child, I started researching how to become a surrogate.' D'Arcy stumbled across the Australian Surrogacy Community group on Facebook. She met some couples, but they didn't hit it off. Then she connected with a same-sex couple. 'I just really liked them. And after conversations via social media, when I met them in person, I just clicked with them really, really well.' When I met D'Arcy at the retreat, she was almost seven months into her second surrogacy pregnancy for the same couple. Over the weekend, the activities include chats around the fireplace, communal meals, nature walks, yoga and crafts. Every activity is optional, and some take place simultaneously. While the bulk of the Queensland contingent decides to drive out to see the snow, the Victorian and Tasmanian surrogates opt for a yoga class. Apart from mealtimes, no schedule is set. Through it all, there are deep and candid conversations about womanhood and motherhood. From the mundane logistics of parenting to surrogate heart-to-hearts: the venting of niggles or annoyances of their relationships (with their partners and with the intended parents they carried for) to detailed and graphic descriptions of intimate medical procedures. The mood is one of total release. But the one topic that dominates every conversation is pregnancy, and how pregnancy affected each of these surrogates. Even under the best, low-risk circumstances, pregnancy takes its toll on mind and body, so I ask, 'Why go through all that for someone else?' Time and time again, the women report that they want to help someone else create a family. But that isn't the only reason – another powerful driver many raise is the need to satiate a deep, personal feeling of 'not being done'. Sarah Jefford became a surrogate and an egg donor after an excruciating IVF experience. Once she finally became a mother of two, she felt she wanted 'to have another pregnancy and birth and not raise the baby'. 'If you're wanting to be pregnant and then you find out you're pregnant, it's just the best,' Jefford adds. She describes this feeling as 'baby lust'. Some surrogates, such as Queensland educator SJ, who did not want to use her real name, told me that upon birthing her two children, she experienced a persistent feeling of 'being unfinished'. Although she felt her own family was complete, she couldn't shake a yearning to experience pregnancy and childbirth again. She would wake in the middle of the night to research how to become a surrogate. Tasmanian trail runner Chelsea had a daughter and didn't want any more children of her own, but also wanted to experience birthing again, while helping someone else experience parenthood. 'Now that I knew the course of the race, I thought I could try and do it and be a bit more present within my body and run a better race, so to speak.' Sign up to Saved for Later Catch up on the fun stuff with Guardian Australia's culture and lifestyle rundown of pop culture, trends and tips after newsletter promotion Chelsea offered to carry for a same-sex couple she knew. They used an egg donor (also a friend) and the sperm of one parent. She found out she was carrying twins during a check-up, where the dads and egg donor were also present. 'The reaction from everyone was slightly different. They had tears of joy. I had tears of joy, but a little bit of fear of the unknown, because [twins weren't] something we had talked about beforehand as a possibility.' The babies were monochorionic diamniotic (MCDA) twins; they shared one placenta. That meant Chealsea required significantly more medical monitoring. She gave birth to healthy identical twin girls three months before the retreat. 'The number one question that I get about being a surrogate is how did you feel about giving the baby away? Or in this case, babies. And I never, ever thought of it that way. I always thought of it that I was growing their babies, not that I was giving anything away. 'And once the girls were here it was just amazing to see them [the parents] within the space of a day, just become the amazing dads that I knew that they would be.' Chelsea refers to the four people – the two dads, the egg donor and herself – who created the twins as a 'team'. They experienced the whole process together: from the embryo transfer to monitoring appointments, and they continue to spend time with each other. But as I sat around the fireplace and shared meals with these women at various stages of pregnancy and postpartum, I couldn't help but think they'd giving up a lot to carry for free. Pregnancy and childbirth are not free. In Australia, while payment for surrogates is illegal, intended parents must pay for all their surrogate's 'reasonable expenses', including medical expenses, maternity clothes and lost wages. 'But then there's a question mark because the legislation says it must be reasonable. What's reasonable? Reasonable for you might be different to reasonable for somebody else,' Jefford explains. 'Most surrogates will use their own money to pay for things, not because the intended parents are stingy, but because we are the sort of people that will just be like, 'I'll just pay for hospital parking myself, or I'll pay for the maternity pads.'' In December last year, the federal government announced a review of Australia's surrogacy laws. The review aims to identify reforms and propose harmonised laws across the country. A response to the review is due by the end of July. When Australia's surrogacy laws were drafted, legislators opted for the altruistic surrogacy model as it's often deemed ethically superior to commercial surrogacy, which is susceptible to human trafficking and the exploitation of vulnerable women. Jefford has long been opposed to paid surrogacy but recently has come to favour a compensated model of surrogacy in which surrogates are perhaps paid some amount of money, 'as if it's a job'. 'I used to say, when we introduce money into surrogacy, we commodify women and children. What I say now is it's much more nuanced than that,' she says. Jefford explains the idea of compensated surrogacy is different from paying a fee in exchange for a baby. 'That is human trafficking and it's illegal. 'Pregnancy is hard work and risky,' she says. 'This woman comes along and says, 'I'll do this for free'. And I think, 'Well, I'm not giving legal advice for free, and the IVF clinic is not giving free IVF treatment. Why is it that we think that she should be unpaid for what she's doing?'' In Australia, before intended parents and surrogates are legally allowed to undergo surrogacy, they must attend various counselling sessions to ensure they are emotionally equipped to go through the process, that it is consensual and there is no exploitation. During these sessions, intended parents and surrogates discuss thorny issues such as body autonomy, what happens if anything goes wrong with the pregnancy, what happens if there are signs of genetic abnormalities in the embryo, or any complications that could endanger the life of the surrogate. The aim is to set expectations beforehand, to avoid issues once the baby is born. Despite all the guardrails, things can go sour. At the retreat, surrogates share horror stories about some relationship breakdowns. There was one case in which the surrogate and intended parents had fallen out and were not on speaking terms until shortly before the birth. Another in which the intended parents failed to show up on the day of the birth, leaving the surrogate and her family to care for the baby for a few days, which was distressing. There have been more serious incidents that have ended up in court, one in which a surrogate absconded with the baby, another where a surrogate refused to relinquish the child and consent to a parentage order, the legal document that transfers parentage from the birth parents (usually the surrogate and her partner) to the intended parents. In both cases, the courts ruled in favour of the intended parents, after establishing it had been a surrogacy arrangement. The majority of surrogacy arrangements are successful, however. Surrogates at the retreat, such as D'Arcy, say their lives have been enriched by the experience. 'It's been beautiful to watch this modern family created and seeing all the love that's involved,' she says. Claudianna Blanco is a senior journalist and producer for LiSTNR. Secrets We Keep: By Any Means podcast is out now.
RNZ News
30-06-2025
- RNZ News
New Brenton Tarrant podcast is released
media crime 27 minutes ago A lengthy investitation here and overseas, into terrorist Brenton Tarrant claims he was radicalised much earlier than previously known. A multi-part podcast "Secrets We Keep: Lone Actor" in his home-country Australia. Investigative journalist Joey Watson spoke to Corin Dann.
Kuwait Times
28-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Kuwait Times
Netflix TV drama ‘Secrets We Keep' exposes the dangers of domestic migrant work
Secrets We Keep (Reservatet), a Danish suspense series on Netflix created by Ingeborg Topsøe, delves into the disappearance of a Filipina au pair from an elite suburb of Copenhagen — and delivers a sharp social commentary on racial and class entitlements. Moving fluidly between English, Danish and Tagalog, the six-part drama is a nuanced indictment of the lack of moral accountability among the rich. On display are the prejudices and complicity of white women in enabling a culture of toxic masculinity that treats Filipina migrant women as sexualized and disposable commodities. The story starts with a tearful Ruby Tan — a Filipina au pair who works for the affluent Rasmus (Lars Ranthe) and Katarina (Danica Curcic) — asking for some help with her employers from her neighbour, Cecilie (played by Marie Bach Hansen). Cecilie is a successful non-profit manager and mother of two married to a high-profile lawyer. She employs Angel (Excel Busano), a Filipina au pair. Cecilie tells Ruby she cannot get involved. The next day, Ruby vanishes without a trace. The series is propelled by Cecilie's guilt in refusing to help Ruby. She is shocked at her neighbours' apparent lack of concern for Ruby's disappearance. Cecilie begins to sleuth for clues regarding Ruby's disappearance and she eventually decides to assist Aicha, a racialized policewoman assigned to find the missing au pair. Cecilie discovers a pregnancy kit by a trash bin where she had last seen Ruby. And she soon suspects Ruby's employer, Rasmus, of raping her. While the series lacks true suspense due to its predictable story arc peppered with clues about Ruby's disappearance, it is amply compensated by a sharp critique on the moral decay of modern society, systemic racism and the complicity of women in upholding white masculine privilege. Warped racist view of the world Secrets We Keep lays bare the warped world view of rich, white privilege, racism and the sexual fetishism of Asian women. At a dinner party one night, Rasmus and Katarina do not seem concerned about their missing au pair. Katarina labels Filipina au pairs as whores working in brothels. When discussing Ruby, Katarina says, 'she probably ran off to do porn.' In one uncomfortable scene, Rasmus taunts Cecilia's husband, Mike (Simon Sears), about his sexual preferences. Mike responds by saying: 'I don't have 'yellow fever.'' Cecilia sits silently beside Mike. Katarina also calls Aicha (Sara Fanta Traore), the policewoman, 'the little brown one.' At a formal dinner, Rasmus tells Cecilia: 'We stick together. We are from the same world, and we are loyal to each other.' High rates of violence against women The reduction of Ruby into a sexual object in the show reflects the high rates of sexual violence against Filipina au pairs in Scandinavia. It led the Philippines to ban the participation of Scandinavian countries in its 'informal labour' arrangement in 1998. Though the ban was lifted in 2010, Au Pair Network, an advocacy group, reveals that the program is still riddled with abuse. The Nordic Paradox is a term used to describe how Scandinavian countries, including Denmark, rank the highest in the Gender Equality Index yet suffer from very high rates of violence against women and intimate partner violence in Europe. At a recent gender studies conference in Stockholm, Ardis Ingvars, a sociologist at the University of Iceland who worked as an au pair for a year in the United States just after she turned 18, recalls her anxiety and apprehension as she moved to Boston. She said: 'Au pairs hope to be lucky with the family turning out OK. What is difficult to take is the attitude of 'ownership' that the children and families display over the au pairs as an unquestioned entitlement.' Ingvars said asymmetrical power relations embedded within the au pair system reinforce racial and class hierarchies. This is reflected in Secrets We Keep. Midway during Aicha's investigation, as she hits roadblock after roadblock, she cries out in frustration: 'She's a fucking nobody in their world.' Feminized labour exploitation Economic globalization, neoliberal policies and an increased dependence on the remittance economy fuses with the care gap in the Global North to fuel the feminized care migration from the Global South, many of them Filipino women. Au pairs are placed with host families who provide free board and meals in return for up to 30 hours a week of housework and child care as they learn the host language and customs. The au pairs are paid 'pocket money' of Danish Kroner 5,000 per month (approx $1,000 Canadian) out of which they also pay local taxes. One scene shows one of Cecilie's work meetings. A junior staff member expresses surprise that Cecilie has an au pair, labelling it a relic of colonial era racial hierarchies. Cecilie defends herself, and says the system survives because of the failure of men to keep up their domestic bargain and thus the need for women like her 'to outsource care.' She argues the Filipina au pairs 'are dependable' and she is 'a much better mother' because of Angel. But Cecilie doesn't acknowledge her privilege — that to be with her children and have a career is predicated on the exploitative extraction of care from Global South women. The female au pairs in Denmark must be between 18-29 years of age, childless, never married and at the end of two years, return home. Almost 50 to 75 per cent of au pairs in Denmark are Filipino women Cecilie's shock at finding out that Angel has a son whom she left behind in the Philippines is part of her denial. In the end, Cecilie is unable to confront her own complicity and decides to release Angel from their au pair arrangement. 'You know nothing about my world…You are very lucky,' cries Angel in anguish as Cecilie hands her the return ticket and an extra three months' pay to demonstrate her magnanimity. Secrets We Keep reveals the brutal reality for Global South au pairs as well as upper-class white women and their entitlements. It indicates that even though these white wealthy women may see mistreatment, they maintain their silence and participate in wilful gendered violence to hold onto that privilege, while maintaining a façade of compassion towards the disposable racial migrant other. - Reuters
Forbes
13-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Forbes
The Ending Of Netflix's ‘The Survivors' Is Really Quite Bad
The Survivors Netflix's new mystery, The Survivors, still has retained its 100% on Rotten Tomatoes, but I'm having a hard time agreeing with that now that I've reached the end. While I was compelled to keep watching over the course of the series, it began to fall apart and, by the end, did not work at all. Here are the issues I had with the ending of The Survivors: The Survivors The end result of all this is…a young girl died in a cave because of the tide. Two boys died in a storm. A girl was murdered because there was a remote chance she might find where the girl died. This isn't satisfying, I'm sorry. This seemed a lot more interesting than it eventually ended up being, and I wouldn't recommend this over, say, Secrets We Keep or Dept. Q on Netflix. Watch those instead. Follow me on Twitter, YouTube, Bluesky and Instagram. Pick up my sci-fi novels the Herokiller series and The Earthborn Trilogy.
