In the annals of medical ethics violations, the case of Dr. Donald Cline stands out as particularly disturbing. During the 1970s and 80s, this Indiana-based fertility specialist inseminated numerous patients with his own sperm, a betrayal carried out without their knowledge or consent. The chilling reality of his actions, and the ripple effects on the lives of his unwitting offspring, are now brought to light in the Netflix documentary, Our Father. This film unveils the poignant narratives of the women he deceived and the staggering number – at least 94, but potentially as high as 600 – of biological children fathered by Cline.
Our Father meticulously chronicles the journey of these half-siblings as they grapple with the shocking truth of their parentage. Through interviews with parents, children, and those close to the unfolding events, the documentary captures the raw emotions of betrayal and the determined fight for justice that followed. In a contemporary landscape where reproductive rights are increasingly contested, Our Father takes on a profound resonance, prompting critical questions about autonomy in reproductive healthcare and the accountability owed when such autonomy is violated.
Here’s a deeper look into the unsettling case highlighted in Our Father.
The DNA Test Revelation: Discovering a Hidden Family
The intricate web of deceit began to unravel when Jacoba Ballard, seeking to understand her genetic background, took an at-home DNA test. The results were far more than she anticipated – she discovered not one or two, but seven half-siblings. This initial discovery sparked an investigation that would expose the magnitude of Dr. Cline’s deception. As Ballard connected with her newfound family, the horrifying truth of their shared lineage emerged: their parents’ trusted fertility doctor had secretly used his own sperm for insemination.
The number of siblings continued to escalate as more individuals submitted their DNA to databases like 23andMe. Each new notification of a genetic match brought a mix of shock and dread for Ballard. “I know I’m going to call them and I’m going to ruin their life,” she recounts in the documentary, encapsulating the emotional burden of delivering such life-altering news.
“It just completely washes away your identity,” states Julie Harmon, another of Cline’s biological children, articulating the profound sense of disorientation and identity crisis experienced by the siblings. Our Father features interviews with eight of the confirmed 94 siblings, a number that remains a minimum estimate. Due to Cline’s lack of transparency and the unknown scope of his practice until his retirement in 2009, the true count of his biological children could be far higher, potentially reaching the speculated 600.
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Julie Harmon in Our FatherCourtesy of Netflix
Religious Extremism as a Potential Motive: The Quiverfull Connection
Our Father delves into the potential motivations behind Dr. Cline’s actions, suggesting a link to the extremist Christian sect known as “Quiverfull.” This movement encourages adherents to have as many children as possible, believing it to be a divine mandate to “be fruitful and multiply” and to populate positions of influence with their followers. The documentary subtly raises questions about whether a white supremacist ideology might have also been at play, observing the shared physical traits of many of Cline’s offspring – blonde hair and blue eyes. Quiverfull ideology, with its emphasis on patriarchal gender roles and concerns about declining European populations, lends some credence to this interpretation.
The film underscores the pervasive influence of Cline’s faith on his medical practice, particularly after a traumatic event where he accidentally killed a young girl in a car accident. His clinic was imbued with religious practices: staff prayer sessions, advising patients to pray about treatment decisions, Christian sayings adorning the office, and a recurring reference to Jeremiah 1:5 (“Before I formed you in your mother’s womb I knew you.”), a verse often cited within Quiverfull circles. Despite these indications, Cline has never publicly acknowledged any affiliation with the Quiverfull movement.
Justice Denied: The Legal System’s Failure to Hold Cline Accountable
A central theme of Our Father is the glaring absence of legal justice for Cline’s victims and their families. By the time his crimes began to surface in 2015, Cline was retired and living a seemingly respectable life in Indianapolis, Indiana. The affected families sought recourse through the Marion County prosecutor and the Indiana attorney general, arguing that Cline’s actions constituted sexual assault and demanding a thorough investigation. However, progress was frustratingly slow.
While authorities deliberated, Cline remained an esteemed figure in his community and church, even performing baptisms in his home. Alarmingly, he also began to subtly intimidate the siblings, hinting at repercussions if they persisted in their pursuit of legal action. Jacoba Ballard reported finding the lug nuts loosened on her car. Julie Harmon discovered her hard drive wiped clean of all data related to Cline. Heather Woock, another sibling who spoke publicly, received unsettling phone calls inquiring about cemetery plots.
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Jacoba Ballard in Our FatherCourtesy of Netflix
When an investigation was finally launched, the outcome was deeply disappointing. Prosecutors concluded that, under existing Indiana law, Cline could not be charged with rape for inseminating patients without their consent. Tim Delaney, a prosecutor involved in the case in 2015, explained in the documentary, “I don’t deny that it was a sexual violation, [but] ‘Dr. Cline committed rape,’ is a legal assertion that was not true, and I wasn’t going to put it on paper with my signature.” He acknowledged the victims’ emotional distress and their desire for catharsis, but stated that his role was not to provide it if the legal definition of rape was not met.
Liz White, a former patient of Cline and mother to one of his biological children, powerfully countered this legal interpretation: “I was raped 15 times and didn’t even know it,” she stated, emphasizing the fundamental lack of consent and choice in Cline’s actions.
Lucie Jourdan, the director/producer of Our Father, explained that the film was created to amplify the voices of the siblings and their parents, aiming to publicly condemn Cline’s actions after the justice system failed to deliver meaningful consequences.
Ultimately, to achieve any legal repercussions, Cline was prosecuted on charges unrelated to his fertility fraud. In 2017, he faced two felony counts of obstruction of justice for lying during the investigation. Crucially, the obstruction charges meant that the evidence of his actions against his patients was inadmissible in court. Cline pleaded guilty and received two suspended sentences – avoiding jail time – and a mere $500 fine.
Our Father poignantly illustrates a type of violation so unprecedented that it existed in a legal vacuum. It was only through the tireless advocacy of Cline’s biological children and their parents that Indiana enacted a fertility-fraud law in 2018, largely spearheaded by Matt White and his mother Liz White. However, federal legislation on fertility fraud remains absent.
While the specifics of Dr. Cline’s case may be unique in scale, the underlying issue – the violation of reproductive autonomy and the inadequate legal protections surrounding it – is not. Cline’s actions, potentially fueled by extremist religious beliefs, represent an abuse of power that resonates far beyond his individual case. Our Father serves as a vital exposé, bringing this disturbing story to a wider audience and highlighting the fragile framework safeguarding reproductive rights in the US.
