Birth Alerts in Canada: Why They Hurt Families and What Needs to Change

There’s something I think about often as a doula, especially when I’m working with families who’ve already had the world on their backs long before labour even starts. It’s the way some parents step into parenthood, already treated like a risk instead of like human beings who deserve care, compassion, and support. And in Canada, one of the clearest examples of this has been birth alerts.

If you’re not familiar, birth alerts were notifications sent by hospitals or social workers to child welfare services when they thought a baby might be “at risk.” In theory, that might sound protective. In reality, it targeted Indigenous, Black, low-income, and other marginalized parents in ways that were deeply harmful. Many families didn’t even know a birth alert had been filed until workers showed up with the power to take their newborn, sometimes within minutes of birth.

Imagine being in the most vulnerable moment of your life, your body still shaking from labour, your baby maybe still covered in vernix, and instead of support, you’re met with suspicion. Not because you’ve done something wrong. Not because your baby wasn’t safe. But because of racism, stereotypes, or the fact that generations of your family had already been over-surveilled by systems that claim to “protect” children while harming the communities they target.

Even though many provinces have said they ended birth alerts, the reality on the ground doesn’t always match the press releases. Families are still being watched more closely than others. Babies are still being apprehended disproportionately from Indigenous parents. And Black and "racialized" parents still talk about being judged before they even speak. It’s impossible to separate this history from Canada’s ongoing legacy of colonialism. Many Indigenous parents describe it as a continuation of residential schools and the Sixties Scoop, just in a modern setting. When you look at the numbers, you can’t deny it. Indigenous children make up a tiny percentage of Canada’s population, yet are massively overrepresented (more than 50%) in foster care. And this doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It happens because people in positions of power still view certain parents as inherently less capable or less deserving of keeping their own babies.

I think about the families I support, especially those who already feel the pressure to “perform” good parenting from the second they walk into the hospital. They’re hyperaware of who is watching, what’s being written down, and how easily a biased assumption could spiral into something life-changing. That’s not care. That’s surveillance.

And it’s why community-centred support matters so much. Parents need doulas, advocates, midwives, sisters, aunties, elders, whoever makes them feel grounded and safe. They need people who remind them that their culture, their trauma histories, their lived experiences, and their ways of parenting are valid. They deserve birth spaces where they aren’t assumed to be a problem. They deserve postpartum care focused on keeping families together, not tearing them apart.

If you’re someone who works with families, this is the moment to reflect on who is being listened to and who isn’t. Who gets the benefit of the doubt, and who gets scrutinized. And if you’re reading this as a parent who has lived under this shadow, I want you to know this: nothing about you or your worthiness as a parent was or has ever been determined by those systems. Your love for your baby is real, your fears are valid, and you deserve support that lifts you up, not support that threatens to take what you love most.

Birth should be a moment of empowerment and connection. Not a moment of fear. And the more we talk about these issues openly, the closer we get to creating a world where every family, especially those who’ve been historically targeted, can welcome their baby without worrying about losing them.

If you’d like to learn more or connect with supportive perinatal care, you can explore my services page or reach out directly if you’re navigating pregnancy, birth, or postpartum in a system that hasn’t always treated your community fairly. You don’t have to do it alone. You deserve better.