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.

Getty
Show Hide image

“We don’t BeLiviu”: how Romania is rising against corruption

Night after night, activists gather in Victory Square to demand the resignation of the government.

For much of the year, the large tarmac square in front of the main government building in Bucharest is little more than a glorified roundabout, busy with traffic and surrounded by towering, communist-era blocks on one side and a wedge-shaped park on the other.

But when Romanians gather to protest, as they have done these past weeks in record numbers, it becomes a place of pent-up frustration; against the ruling class, the direction in which the country is heading and the way many politicians continue to use the public purse as a source of cash for their personal use. This was not how it was supposed to be, ten years after the country joined the European Union.

On 31 January Romania’s new government, in power for less than a month, sneaked in a piece of emergency legislation during a late-night session to weaken the punishment for abuse of power, negligence while in office and conflict of interest. In effect, the move decriminalised some forms of corruption, if the financial damage caused amounted to less than roughly £38,000.

Many Romanians and international observers saw it as a brazen attempt to help politicians facing legal problems, prominent among them Liviu Dragnea, the leader of Romania’s largest political party, the Social Democrats, and the president of the Chamber of Deputies (Romania’s House of Commons). Dragnea is facing trial for supposedly getting colleagues added to the public payroll even though they do not work for the state. He is one of many public officials facing a day in court; in fact, he has already faced the courts, earning a 2015 conviction for electoral fraud that barred him from becoming prime minister despite his party’s strong showing in parliamentary elections last December.

The backlash against the ordinance was swift, as night after night tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands, and, once, half a million took to the streets to protest. On 5 February, between 500,000 and 600,000 people protested across Romania, with 300,000 in the government square alone. Demonstrations have also taken place in 50 towns and cities in the country, as well as in the Romanian diaspora.

The government backed down on its immediate plans and repealed the decree, but trust was by then long gone. Protests are now in their third week and, despite snowfall, show little sign of ending.

“This government needs to go. You can’t be elected in December and have hundreds of thousands on the streets in a month,” said Dorial Ilie, a 33-year-old PR worker, one cold evening in the square.

Romanians are fed up with corruption. The country sits 57th in Transparency International’s corruption perceptions index – up from 69th place in 2014, but corruption remains endemic, and Romania is near the bottom of the list when it comes to EU countries.

Despite the efforts of the country’s much-admired National Anti-corruption Directorate (DNA), set up in 2003 and responsible for the successful prosecution of thousands of politicians, civil servants, judges and business leaders, there is a sense that the rich and powerful still operate as if they were above the law. This was certainly not helped by the attempts to change the anti-corruption legislation.

“They had been planning to do this for years,” said Dan Popescu, a 46-year-old priest protesting in the square, echoing the sentiments of many of those around him.

The demonstrations, the largest in the country since the fall of Nicolae Ceausescu in 1989, have been an impressive display of people power in a country that is increasingly using the streets as a communication platform. Large-scale protests in Romania also brought down the last elected government in November 2015, after corruption was blamed for a fire in a Bucharest nightclub that left 64 dead, and before that, mass protests during the 2014 presidential election, this time over mismanagement of diaspora voting, arguably helped tip the balance in favour of the now-incumbent, Klaus Iohannis.

Protesters are hoping for a similar impact this time around, although, having survived a no-confidence vote in parliament on 8 February, the new government shows little willingness to depart.

At the same time, most of those gathering night after night in Victory Square – as the drab square outside the government building is officially known – are still loudly demanding the resignation of the government, but would probably settle for the resignations of Dragnea and the prime minister, Sorin Grindeanu.

After so many nights standing out in the cold, protesters have become very creative. Elaborate banners filled with puns (“We don’t BeLiviu”) have appeared, as have messages written with lasers and projected on to nearby buildings. Some have shone the Batman symbol on to the roof of a nearby museum, a funny (or perhaps desperate) plea for help. The national anthem is often sung. On Sunday, a sea of protesters held up pieces of paper coloured over their phone lights to create a vast Romanian flag.

Despite these touches of humour and inventiveness, there is a steely determination evident and it has only grown since the first night or two.

On 13 February the national parliament approved a referendum related to the fight against corruption, as proposed by the protest-supporting president. But most of those on the streets these past weeks would argue that they have already given their opinion on the matter.

Many Romanians are increasingly frustrated that they have to head out to protest time and again in order to hold their elected officials to account. Few believe that the present political class can change. “They’ll try again, in another way. Maybe in parliament, where they have a majority,” said Ioana David, an administrative worker for a construction company.

Even so, she – like so many others – is likely to continue to go out into Victory Square in the days and perhaps weeks ahead, in order to make sure her voice gets heard.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times