Matilde (4) has two mothers. According to the Italian government, that is one too many

With a broad, mischievous smile, four-year-old Matilde Quadri-Chiarello waits in the doorway for visitors. Her two mothers only told her that “a lady is coming to visit.” But the cheerful blonde toddler realizes all too well what the interview will be about. “My name is Matilde Regenboog,” she says with a burst of laughter. The girl already knows that her double surname may soon be deleted. Matilde started calling herself that, her mothers say, after a manifestation of the Italian Rainbow familiesan association of LGBTI parents.

Together with her grandmother and her parents, Franca Chiarello (51) and Ilaria Quadri (48), Matilde lives in a spacious country house, right in the green of Grisignano di Zocco, a rural municipality in the northern Italian province of Vicenza. Grandma Bianca Penello (77) exhausted herself in Italian hospitality and prepared an extensive feast on a weekday evening. Franca is a product developer at the Italian fashion house Valentino, Ilaria works as a psychologist with children with learning disabilities.

There is great unrest in this apparently carefree family of three women and a little girl. Franca and Ilaria have to go to court later this month, because the public prosecutor of Padua wants to remove Franca as a parent. The reason: Franca is not Matilde’s biological mother, nor did she give birth to her.

Italy was already a country that lagged far behind in Western Europe in terms of LGBTI rights. But since the radical right-wing Giorgia Meloni became Prime Minister, the clock has been turned back further. Her Brothers of Italy party preaches very conservative values, and the traditional straight family should be considered the norm. In Italy, non-heterosexuals cannot legally marry, but only enter into a cohabitation contract. Surrogacy is prohibited, as is gay adoption and IVF is excluded for non-heterosexuals (and singles).

But that does not mean that LGBTI people do not form families there. In the case of Franca and Ilaria, via IVF, with a double donation (of both an egg and sperm), abroad. Both women wanted to adopt, but as lesbians they are not allowed to do so. Ilaria, who gave birth to Matilde, is therefore not biologically her mother either, but because she gave birth to the child in an Italian hospital, her motherhood is not disputed.

Michela Leidi, Viola Canavesi and their daughter Giulia in Bergamo. Photo Isabella De Maddalena

Legal gap

Italian law is unclear about the role of her partner Franca. Simply put: it is not arranged. Some progressive cities in Northern Italy are now taking advantage of this legal gap by registering both mothers on the birth certificate. As a kind of act of civil disobedience or a political statement, the northern Italian university city of Padua, for example, has done this, as have Bergamo and Milan.

Ilaria therefore deliberately gave birth in Padua. For four years, Ilaria and Franca had all rights and obligations regarding their daughter and she also bore a double family name. Then Giorgia Meloni became Prime Minister in October last year, and her ultra-conservative government came to power. Already during her campaign, Meloni indicated that she would fight against “gender ideology” and the “LGBTI lobby”.

At the beginning of this year, Interior Minister Matteo Piantedosi sent a letter urging mayors to no longer recognize two mothers together as parents. In Padua, the public prosecutor went one step further by questioning all birth certificates with two mothers, going back six years.

In total, the mothers of 33 children received a registered letter in which the public prosecutor indicated that he would contest the parentage of the co-mother. They can oppose this in court, and a judge will have the final say. The public prosecutor did not respond to a request NRC for an interview.

Steps backwards

The large, brown envelope is now on the kitchen table and is causing a lot of emotion, especially for Franca Chiarello. “It is a very dry, sterile letter, written in very bureaucratic Italian,” says Franca. “This is probably routine work for the officials involved, but it has turned our lives upside down. I already knew that Italy was far from ideal for LGBTI people. But I really did not expect that we would take steps backwards in 2023.”

Their trial is scheduled for later this month. The first court case, which starts on Tuesday in Padua, concerns a six-year-old child who may soon suddenly lose one parent, legally speaking.

In Italy, a political conflict has broken out between progressive cities and the central government over lesbian co-motherhood. “In Padua we are continuing with the registrations of both mothers,” says Francesca Benciolini, councilor for Demographic Services, firmly, during an interview at city hall. “Yes, a judge can later reverse such a decision, but that takes time. And because of our registration here, both mothers have at least been able to enjoy their maternity leave together.”

Viola Canavesi with her daughter Giulia in Bergamo. Photo Isabella De Maddalena

Michela Leidi (39), ski instructor and social worker, knows exactly what it feels like and what changes in your life if you are suddenly cut off as a mother. It happened to her earlier this year. Her partner Viola Canavesi (35), also working in the social-educational sector, gave birth to their daughter Giulia, now 16 months old. The family lives in a cozy apartment in a rural village just outside the northern Italian city of Bergamo. Losing your rights as a mother is not just an emotional blow, the woman says as she plays with her child. Such a legal decision also involves many practical concerns.

For example, formal permission is suddenly required to pick up the child from the daycare center. Michela cannot simply take the child to the pediatrician or hospital. And if something were to happen to her partner, in the most extreme case she runs the risk that the child will be officially considered an orphan. “It’s all very absurd,” says Michela. “Because we are officially registered as a couple, we have to file our tax returns together. I am now no longer an official parent of Giulia, but I am obliged to help pay for the daycare.”

They are ‘pragmatic’ in the daycare, the woman says, and she is still allowed to pick up her child. And the pediatrician, who knows the family well, is also not difficult. This means that daily life does not suddenly feel radically different. “But I am much more afraid than before,” says the woman. “Especially when I am alone with our daughter, and I fear that I will suddenly have to go to the hospital with her. What do I say then? That I am the intentional mother, but cannot prove our bond, and am still waiting for the biological mother?”

Franca Chiarello and Ilaria Quadri in Grisignano. Photo Claudia Corrent

Special adoption procedure

Michela is now going through a special adoption procedure. The family must have six conversations, separately and then together, with a psychologist and a social worker. “They just do their job and act very humanly. But when they ask ‘how long have you known the minor?’ then I want to scream: all her life! After all, I wanted her fervently!”

Organizations dedicated to LGBTI and other civil rights provide legal assistance to families in this situation, and also bring national attention to such cases in Italy. Like the Association Luca Coscioni, an association that promotes civil rights. “This hard-right government seems keen to remove a parent if he is gay,” says national secretary Filomena Gallo. “And this government is concerned about the lack of children in Italy. I would like to ask Meloni: is it really your priority to deprive a child of one of its parents?”