Our regressive, insensitive and cultish attitude to breastfeeding

Blind adherence to the principle of “breast is best” seems to have become more important than treating babies, toddlers and parents as whole human beings.

Both of my children were breastfed, the first one, miserably, hidden away in public toilets or upstairs rooms ( “we set this one aside for you”), or on the sofa at home, following a long trudge back from town (“no, I can’t feed you now, I know you’re hungry, I hear your cries, but someone might see”). With the second it was different. With two children under two, I stopped caring. I ignored all the “this town welcomes breastfeeding” stickers placed only in the loneliest, most isolated places. Took no notice of the “discreet” breastfeeding aprons now marketed at mothers lest some innocent passer-by is corrupted by the sight of babe on tit. I whacked my breasts out anywhere and everywhere. My baby needed feeding. I fed him. I didn’t care what people thought. I might have had twice as many little ones to care for, but life was a whole lot easier.

It’s a couple of years since I breastfed and in some ways I miss it. I liked the bonding and I’ll be honest, by the end of it, I liked the “fuck you” it gave to anyone with the sheer nerve to be offended by it. And many people still are offended by it – really offended. Many of the worst offenders (or offendees?) lurk on Twitter (a surprising number of people feel inclined to tweet their disgust at nursing in public, frequently comparing it to defecation). I’ve never had such comparisons made to my face, but have had the odd “bitty” comment. This form of public disapproval is bad for mothers, bad for babies and terrible for the relationship they’re trying to forge. I still feel shame at not having given my firstborn sustenance freely, whenever and wherever he needed it.

Breastfeeding needs to be made easier, much easier. The trouble is, we’ve set our sights on the wrong people, something which became increasingly clear to me when I trained as a breastfeeding peer supporter. There the whole focus is not on prejudice but on ignorance – to be specific, the presumed ignorance of new mothers. The idea seems to be that society doesn’t need to change, new mothers do. When they don’t breastfeed it’s always because they “don’t know the facts”, or “haven’t persevered”, or have physical and/or psychological challenges that can be “easily overcome”. The idea that perhaps a woman just doesn’t want to – and that that is fine – is something no one in the pro-breastfeeding camp dares to mention. As time goes on, I become increasingly convinced that a great deal of breastfeeding propaganda isn’t to do with supporting women, regardless of how they choose to feed. It’s about pushing a broader philosophical position on how mothers should be, and it’s one I find regressive, insensitive and more than a little bit cultish.

This week American academic Joan B Wolf will give a lecture at the University of Kent in which she will argue the health benefits of breastfeeding are over-rated. This is to tie in with her book Is Breast Best? Taking on the Breastfeeding Experts and the New High Stakes of Motherhood.  I have not read the work and am prepared to believe that it is not without its own biases (Wolf is a professor of gender studies, not a clinician). Even so, I am relieved that the perception of breastfeeding as the default “right thing” for any mother to do is being challenged. I don’t think you need to talk to scientists (as Wolf has done) to know that it’s not so clear-cut. Any mother who hasn’t been bullied into losing the ability to think critically should be able to recognise this.  

Here, for instance, are just some of the drawbacks of breastfeeding (not including those based on external prejudice):

  • You’re on call to feed the baby 24/7 (convenient, my arse)
     
  • Other parents can’t take part in feeding unless you express, which is so time-consuming you end up thinking “sod it, shall we just agreed that I feed him/her?”
     
  • Other children lose out on one-on-one time with Mummy
     
  • It makes returning to work more difficult
     
  • It causes mothers physical pain (“not if you’re doing it properly”, they say. Of course, they’re not around in the morning when you wake up with tits like rock-hard boulders)
     
  • It can give mothers mastitis (“not if you -” oh, just give it up, you fibbers)
     
  • It can make mothers lose too much weight (“Too much? Is there such a thing as too much?” you might ask. Well, yes. I lost so much it triggered an eating disorder relapse. On balance, this was not a plus)
     
  • Variations in milk supply and ability to achieve let-down cause distress and frustration to both mother and baby (one of the reasons I think my youngest self-weaned. By the time he reached nine months, he wanted some consistency, dammit, and who can blame him?)

These, by the way, are all the complaints of someone who found breastfeeding “easy” i.e. me. What’s it like for someone who finds it hard? Why are we so convinced that the benefits outweigh the risks? What about the fact, pure and simple, that this is another person’s body we’re talking about? What about her right to bodily integrity? What about her feelings? (Contrary to popular belief, mummies still have those.) I’ve never seen satisfactory responses to these questions. Women who’ve just given birth are ordered not to be so “selfish”, yet isn’t selfish to base serious parenting decisions on something other than the antibodies found in a particular liquid, a liquid for which there is another, perfectly acceptable if not-so-antibody-tastic substitute.

Four years ago I attended a seminar run by my local breastfeeding support network. It was led by breastfeeding guru and author of The Politics of Breastfeeding, Gabrielle Palmer. Palmer was a good, convincing speaker. It was some of the other breastfeeding supporters I had issues with. They scared me. A lot of them seemed furious – really bloody furious – about the very existence of formula milk. They were outraged at the way formula manufacturers piggy-back on the benefits of breastfeeding in order to promote the alternative, outraged at the way “follow-on” milk has been used to get around bans on advertising formula for newborns. I just can’t get that cross. They’re just adverts. All adverts are sneaky. I’ve used follow-on milk. It is not the sperm of the devil. It feeds babies. It might not be breast milk, but that doesn’t make it a bad thing in and of itself. It seems to me that the whole Nestlé scandal, while indefensible, has been exploited by certain breastfeeding supporters to make the use of formula itself appear morally wrong. This isn’t logical and it isn’t fair.

Yesterday morning I saw this issue discussed on Twitter and it struck me that many mothers – regardless of how they feed their babies – do not hold the extreme views commonly ascribed to them. We do not fall neatly into two camps, those of defensive bottle-feeder and smug, self-righteous breast-feeder. We are able to see nuance and make the compromises we need to as parents. By contrast compromise wasn’t something I encountered in the breastfeeding counsellor who trained our group. She objected even to the use of breast pumps because “feeding a baby from a bottle will cause nipple confusion, even if the milk is expressed”. I did once mention to her that I’d depended on my breast pump after my second child was sent to hospital in a different town. Without expressing, I wouldn’t have been able to spend half my nights at home with my other child while my partner stayed in the hospital. The counsellor’s view was that my elder son – not yet two – should just have settled for not having Mummy at home for a while. I found it hard to believe that the avoidance of baby bottles, regardless of what they contained, should have been more important than reassuring my son at such a difficult time. It felt as though blind adherence to the principle of “breast is best” had become more important than treating babies, toddlers and parents as whole human beings, with a broad range of physical, emotional and practical needs. Is such an attitude really likely to make more women think breastfeeding is worthwhile?

We should of course be frustrated at the fact that those mothers who wish to breastfeed don’t always get the support and information they require. More than that, however, we should be outraged that all mothers, regardless of their choices, will be made to feel bad about how they care for their babies. Breastfeed and you’ll feel the pressure to hide from public view. Bottle-feed and it will be suggested that you have “failed”. And yet however you do it, feeding is caring and nurturing. How can we have let it become a source of shame?

A woman breastfeeds her newborn baby. Photograph: Getty Images

Glosswitch is a feminist mother of three who works in publishing.

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Why Russia holds the key to resolving the North Korea crisis

China is propping up North Korea’s economy, but it seems to get little influence in return.

For more than half a century, China has seen North Korea as a dangerous irritant as much as an asset. It might be useful for keeping the United States off guard, and regarded as an essential buffer by the military establishment, but China would happily ditch it if there were a better option.

The North Korean regime has tended to be characterised as uniquely irrational and unpredictable. From its perspective, however, its behaviour makes eminent sense: in fact, its argument for developing a nuclear capability closely echoes the rationale of the great powers. It has no declared intent to launch a first strike, but as long as others have nuclear weapons, North Korea reasons they serve a deterrent function. The regime also argues, as others have, that there are associated benefits with civil nuclear power.  

The long history of North Korea’s nuclear programme follows a recognisable path, previously trodden by Israel, India and Pakistan. It goes from the ambition, formed in the mind of North Korea’s founding dictator, Kim Il-sung, through the long years of a clandestine programme, to the gradual revelation of a reasonably mature, if relatively small, nuclear capability. Signalling is also an element in deterrence. The regime is certainly unpleasant and destabilising, but it is a mistake to imagine that there is no clear purpose and no plan.

The dynasty began life as a Soviet puppet, sandwiched between a powerful USSR and a weak China. But from the start, Kim Il-sung’s muscular nationalism and concern for regime survival suggested that he was unlikely to be a docile dependent of either. His attempt to unify the peninsula by force in 1950 led to a bloody war in which Mao Zedong was obliged to come to his rescue. In the course of that war, “fire and fury” did indeed rain down on North Korea: the US dropped as much ordnance on North Korea as it had during the whole of the Second World War Pacific theatre, including the carpet bombing of Japan. To this day, any building site in Pyongyang is likely to turn up some unexploded ordnance. North Korea was born in a rain of fire, which it has incorporated into its national story.

The regime succeeded in maintaining relations with both its patrons through the dramas and tensions of the Sino-Soviet split to the end of the Cold War. But as Kim Il-sung contemplated the future survival of his regime, he concluded that a nuclear programme was essential insurance, both against his major enemies (the US and South Korea) and any territorial ambitions or excessive demands from China or Russia.

China was and remains North Korea’s major ally, but that does not make North Korea obedient. Their bilateral history is a story of growing defiance and increasing alienation: Kim Il-sung ignored Mao Zedong’s attempt to dissuade him from naming his eldest son, Kim Jong-il, as his successor. He had visited Beijing once a year and had promised that his son would follow suit, but Kim Jong-il only visited Deng Xiaoping’s China once, in 1983. His next visit came three years after Deng’s death, a death for which Kim had offered no formal condolences, as even the most minimal protocol required. 

On that visit, Kim heard the unwelcome news that China, already closer to the United States than he would have wished, was to open relations with his bitter rival, South Korea. When the third dynastic leader, the young Kim Jong-un, took power in 2011, relations with China slid further. Tellingly, Kim Jong-un has not visited Beijing at all, nor has China’s leader, President Xi Jinping, visited Pyongyang, although he has held four summit meetings with South Korea.

Kim Jong-un has made his defiance publicly evident. Not only has he chosen to test his missiles and weapons, but he has selected such highly sensitive moments as last year’s G20 summit in Hangzhou to do so.

China is propping up North Korea’s economy, but it seems to get little influence in return, and the value of the relationship has long been openly questioned by China’s foreign policy analysts. China has had little success in encouraging the regime to loosen controls on the economy and make limited market reforms.

 In the current crisis, China has consistently urged restraint, while co-operating with the tightening of UN sanctions. Beijing’s attitude, however, remains ambivalent: it doubts that sanctions will be effective, and is highly sensitive to US suggestions that Chinese companies that breach sanctions would be subject to punitive measures.  For China, the dangers of bringing North Korea to the edge of collapse are greater than the difficulties of seeking another solution.

Today, North Korea’s relations with Russia are warmer than those with Beijing and if President Trump is serious in his search for someone to solve his North Korea problem for him, he could do worse than to call his friend Mr Putin. No doubt there would be a price, but perhaps Trump would have less difficulty in appeasing Russia than in making concessions to Kim Jong-un. 

In July this year, China and Russia put forward a proposal that both sides should make concessions. North Korea would suspend its nuclear and its missile testing in return for a suspension of South Korea’s annual military exercises with the United States. Buried in the joint statement was the assertion that third parties should not negatively affect the interests of other countries.

Both China and Russia aim to reduce US influence in Asia, an ambition greatly aided to date by Trump’s withdrawal from the Trans-Pacific Partnership trade agreement, conceived as a vehicle of US influence; his treatment of long-standing US allies; and his decision to withdraw the US from the Paris agreement on climate change.

Today the US seems poised between demanding that China solve the North Korea problem and beginning a trade war with Beijing. China’s challenge on the Korean peninsula, always difficult, has grown even greater.

Isabel Hilton is the CEO of the China Dialogue Trust

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear