Will a fertile woman's body ever be considered hers and hers alone?

Alicia Silverstone's breast milk sharing programme is intriguing, if slightly alienating for those who don't meet her "lifestyle" standards. While donating milk or being a surrogate is an incredibly kind thing to do it is too often regarded with paternali

Alicia Silverstone is launching her own breast milk sharing programme to enable parents to find donor milk without worrying about “what kind of lifestyle choices the donors [have] made”. Yes, Kind Mama Milk Share is for those who want their babies to have breast milk but not, one presumes, the sort that spurts from the likes of meat-eating, Mars bar-chomping, caffeine-swilling me. I have to say, I’m hurt. Half an hour with a whiny, RSI-inducing breast pump and you’d turn my produce down?

Then again, why shouldn’t those who want donor milk be fussy about the type they use? Is it fair to get all “beggars can’t be choosers” about this? After all, adoptive parents or those who can’t physically breastfeed have a right to form preferences regarding the welfare of their child. If you want to be picky about milk and you’ve got the donors to meet your requirements, is it anyone else’s business?

Apparently it is, although I suspect most of the current reporting is less in response to Silverstone’s exacting breast milk standards and more in a “ooh, milk sharing, weird!” way. Because we do find it weird when people with uteruses and breasts decide to loan out some of their reproductive functions to others. We shouldn’t, but we do.

I was aware of milk donation when I was breastfeeding and volunteering as a peer supporter. I considered it but never took the plunge, partly because I was finding it hard to keep my weight up while feeding one baby, but mainly because I suspected my milk would be rejected anyhow due to long-term medication I was taking. The pills were unlikely to have any impact on my son’s health but sufficient to make my milk fall below the standards required by the milk bank, which seems fair enough (although it does make me wonder whether Kind Mama milk goes through the same checks rather than just being certified vegan). I knew a couple of women who donated milk and I admired them for it. Expressing milk isn’t the most exciting activity on earth and sterilising all the pump components afterwards is just fiddly and annoying. It’s time- and energy-consuming (and potentially expensive due to all those extra calories you need to scoff). But it’s a great thing to do if it means breast milk is made available to babies in need.  

It’s odd that such a generous act is so rarely discussed, let alone celebrated. Then again, whenever a person undertake this type of labour for another - donating eggs, loaning wombs, nursing infants - we always seem to stop short of recognising it for the compassionate act it is. Surrogacy is still viewed with suspicion, the use of breast milk for anything other than feeding one’s own, self-produced baby is considered at best hippyish and at worst disgusting. Yet to do any of these things on behalf of another family can be incredibly kind.

Perhaps part of our mistrust comes down to fears of coercion or financial exploitation. I agree these things are a risk. All the same, it seems odd that we still do not permit women to end their pregnancies at will yet get terribly concerned about those who genuinely wish to donate eggs or give birth on behalf of others. Producing a new life may be a powerful act but the paternalistic way in which it is regulated smacks of fear and more than a little misogyny. We venerate the sacrifice but we don’t appreciate it.

To those who want children but are infertile or have miscarried or suffered stillbirths, the idealisation of pregnant women and new mothers truly hurts. And yet to those who are pregnant or have recently given birth, the lack of respect for the blood-and-guts reality of such a life-changing physical experience can be galling. We call it the miracle of life but we take it for granted. Yes, we all know how utterly amazing you are, but spare us the details. Who do you think you are, the first woman on Earth to give birth? Reproductive freedom  should include the right to share and the right to decide on the sacrifices one is prepared to make. Instead, perceptions of sacrifice shift according to how palatable a woman’s decision is in relation to social norms. An unwanted pregnancy is a mere inconvenience. A wanted pregnancy is a gift of love. A surrogate pregnancy is exploitation. Feeding one’s own baby is natural while giving milk to others is disruptive.

Of course, the fuss about Kind Mama Milk Share may be only partly about breast milk itself. There’s the broader association of Alicia Silverstone and breasts. As one People commenter puts it “I'd like to share Alicia's breast milk, but I want it direct from the source”. Sigh. No wonder it’s hard to be generous. Perhaps one day a fertile woman’s body will be considered hers, and hers alone, to give. 

Alicia Silverstone, who has launched a breast milk sharing programme. Photograph: Getty Images

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

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Arsène Wenger: how can an intelligent manager preside over such a hollowed-out team?

The Arsenal manager faces a frustrating legacy.

Sport is obviously not all about winning, but it is about justified hope. That ­distinction has provided, until recently, a serious defence of Arsène Wenger’s Act II – the losing part. Arsenal haven’t won anything big for 13 years. But they have been close enough (and this is a personal view) to sustain the experience of investing emotionally in the story. Hope turning to disappointment is fine. It’s when the hope goes, that’s the problem.

Defeat takes many forms. In both 2010 and 2011, Arsenal lost over two legs to Barcelona in the Champions League. Yet these were rich and rewarding sporting experiences. In the two London fixtures of those ties, Arsenal drew 2-2 and won 2-1 against the most dazzling team in the world. Those nights reinvigorated my pride in sport. The Emirates Stadium had the best show in town. Defeat, when it arrived in Barcelona, was softened by gratitude. We’d been entertained, more than entertained.

Arsenal’s 5-1 surrender to Bayern Munich on 15 February was very different. In this capitulation by instalments, the fascination was macabre rather than dramatic. Having long given up on discerning signs of life, we began the post-mortem mid-match. As we pored over the entrails, the curiosity lay in the extent of the malady that had brought down the body. The same question, over and over: how could such an intelligent, deep-thinking manager preside over a hollowed-out team? How could failings so obvious to outsiders, the absence of steel and resilience, evade the judgement of the boss?

There is a saying in rugby union that forwards (the hard men) determine who wins, and the backs (the glamour boys) decide by how much. Here is a footballing equivalent: midfielders define matches, attacking players adorn them and defenders get the blame. Yet Arsenal’s players as good as vacated the midfield. It is hard to judge how well Bayern’s playmakers performed because they were operating in a vacuum; it looked like a morale-boosting training-ground drill, free from the annoying presence of opponents.

I have always been suspicious of the ­default English critique which posits that mentally fragile teams can be turned around by licensed on-field violence – a good kicking, basically. Sporting “character” takes many forms; physical assertiveness is only one dimension.

Still, it remains baffling, Wenger’s blind spot. He indulges artistry, especially the mercurial Mesut Özil, beyond the point where it serves the player. Yet he won’t protect the magicians by surrounding them with effective but down-to-earth talents. It has become a diet of collapsing soufflés.

What held back Wenger from buying the linchpin midfielder he has lacked for many years? Money is only part of the explanation. All added up, Arsenal do spend: their collective wage bill is the fourth-highest in the League. But Wenger has always been reluctant to lavish cash on a single star player, let alone a steely one. Rather two nice players than one great one.

The power of habit has become debilitating. Like a wealthy but conservative shopper who keeps going back to the same clothes shop, Wenger habituates the same strata of the transfer market. When he can’t get what he needs, he’s happy to come back home with something he’s already got, ­usually an elegant midfielder, tidy passer, gets bounced in big games, prone to going missing. Another button-down blue shirt for a drawer that is well stuffed.

It is almost universally accepted that, as a business, Arsenal are England’s leading club. Where their rivals rely on bailouts from oligarchs or highly leveraged debt, Arsenal took tough choices early and now appear financially secure – helped by their manager’s ability to engineer qualification for the Champions League every season while avoiding excessive transfer costs. Does that count for anything?

After the financial crisis, I had a revealing conversation with the owner of a private bank that had sailed through the turmoil. Being cautious and Swiss, he explained, he had always kept more capital reserves than the norm. As a result, the bank had made less money in boom years. “If I’d been a normal chief executive, I’d have been fired by the board,” he said. Instead, when the economic winds turned, he was much better placed than more bullish rivals. As a competitive strategy, his winning hand was only laid bare by the arrival of harder times.

In football, however, the crash never came. We all wrote that football’s insane spending couldn’t go on but the pace has only quickened. Even the Premier League’s bosses confessed to being surprised by the last extravagant round of television deals – the cash that eventually flows into the hands of managers and then the pockets of players and their agents.

By refusing to splash out on the players he needed, whatever the cost, Wenger was hedged for a downturn that never arrived.

What an irony it would be if football’s bust comes after he has departed. Imagine the scenario. The oligarchs move on, finding fresh ways of achieving fame, respectability and the protection achieved by entering the English establishment. The clubs loaded with debt are forced to cut their spending. Arsenal, benefiting from their solid business model, sail into an outright lead, mopping up star talent and trophies all round.

It’s often said that Wenger – early to invest in data analytics and worldwide scouts; a pioneer of player fitness and lifestyle – was overtaken by imitators. There is a second dimension to the question of time and circumstance. He helped to create and build Arsenal’s off-field robustness, even though football’s crazy economics haven’t yet proved its underlying value.

If the wind turns, Arsène Wenger may face a frustrating legacy: yesterday’s man and yet twice ahead of his time. 

Ed Smith is a journalist and author, most recently of Luck. He is a former professional cricketer and played for both Middlesex and England.

This article first appeared in the 24 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The world after Brexit