Why Are British Men So Stingy with Their Sperm?

Why Are British Men So Stingy
with Their Sperm?
October 20, 2014
by Gareth May
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(Image via)
If you've ever seen the movie Road Trip, you'd be forgiven for thinking
sperm donation is as simple as cracking one off into a plastic cup. A
glorified power wank at best. At worst, a brief and rather sordid love affair
between man and Tupperware. There is, of course, a little more to it than
that. There has to be, right? After all, one person's clinical deposit is
another's metaphorical stork, carrying a baby to prospective parents waiting
in an empty nursery for the phone to ring.
According to a recent report in The Guardian, that phone isn't going to ring
for a while ­ particularly if you're waiting for a phial of semen from a Brit.
The UK's sperm banks are in a sorry state. Donor records began in 1992,
and that year a grand total of 375 guys made a contribution. Not a great
starting point, and it doesn't get much better. Just over ten years later, in
2004 ­ on the eve of the 2005 law change marking the end of anonymous
donations ­ that number dropped to 239.
Figures have picked up since, with the 2010 records (the latest available)
revealing a sharp improvement ­ up to 480 new donors ­ but it's an increase
still struggling to keep up with demand. One in four sperm donations are
now being supplied from abroad. So what's the hoodoo surrounding
donation? We went out and spoke to men of varying ages across London to
try and get some insight into why so many are reluctant to give up their
seed.
As it turns out, the portrait of the reluctant British sperm donor is pretty
clear. We asked: "What is the main incentive for giving sperm?" As 22­year­
old Essex boy George put it, "You get paid, innit." He wasn't alone. Cash
was the main incentive given by around 80 percent of the 50 men polled.
The other two? "Compassion" and "helping other people". Good lads. RECOMMENDED
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When we asked men ­ who were, it has to be said, not exactly falling over
themselves to answer questions from someone whose opening gambit
was, "Can I talk to you about sperm?" ­ what their main fears surrounding
sperm donation are, answers ranged from religion ("There's a lot of
Muslims round here ­ don't think they're allowed to, are they?" said Tommy,
a 35­year­old artist) to fears of missing out on the upbringing (as father of
two, 42­year­old Glen from Kent, put it: "You wouldn't be able to watch your
kids grow up, and that's the fun bit.").
There were also fears surrounding infertility ("No one wants to find out
they're firing blanks," Tommy continued) and the ignominy of the whole
process. "I don't want to bust my load into a little cup," said 34­year­old
estate agent Richard, summing up the general thought process among
those polled. Slightly less representative was 22­year­old student Oliver,
who was worried that his sperm "might be experimented on".
However, there were two overriding fears surrounding sperm donation that
quickly became apparent in the men we spoke to. Firstly, the lack of
anonymity. They feared that that one day, 18 years from now, the fruit of
their loins would return to demand an explanation and a PlayStation 6.
Secondly, a fear that came from a lack of awareness of the need for sperm
donation, what it entails and and who it is for. Why give if you don't know
why, or how, you'd be giving it? As Rory, a 27­year­old teacher from
Redbridge, said: "It's not in the public domain in the UK. I guess we're more
focused on female fertility than male, like IVF and stuff."
Of the 50 men we spoke to, no one was up for donating, which is significant
in itself. "The way we are in England ­ it's a taboo subject," said one man
we asked, holding his little son's hand. I spoke with forensic and health psychologist Professor Robert J Edelmann
to see what other reasons there might be for men not donating sperm. He
told me the small sample we'd collected pretty much matched up with the
general reasons men are reluctant to wank into a jar to complete a family
picture for someone, somewhere in the world.
"The most frequently cited reason for sperm donation is altruism," said
Edelmann. "Although, many would not donate if payment was not
forthcoming. Some sperm donors report being curious about their own
fertility, and some also believe that they are contributing what they
regarded as their own good genes to other couples."
Research also suggests less willingness to donate if anonymity is removed,
he explained, saying that "fear of [potential] future financial and other
demands" prevail, as well as "concerns that a future partner may not
welcome the idea of another child".
Sperm under the microscope (Image via)
Why do the British seem to have such an absence of social conversation
about sperm donation? "I think people in our society have difficulty in
talking about sperm donation without conjuring up endless double
entendres," said Dr Allan Pacey of The British Fertility Society (BFS). "I
think we are still holding onto our negative Victorian values about sex and
masturbation, and that there is a popular belief that women who donate
eggs are heroes because they have to undergo a medical procedure,
whereas men who donate sperm have to undergo a sexual act and are in
some ways seen as smutty by many people. That debilitates the debate."
Sperm donation isn't just a quick, five­knuckle shuffle, though. As I learned
from an informal chat with a representative from The Human Fertilisation
and Embryology Authority (HFEA), for every 100 men who start the process
of being assessed as a sperm donor, around four are accepted, and that's
largely down to sperm quality (it doesn't freeze very well) and medical
history.
All this suggests that more needs to be done by the National Gamete
Donation Trust (NGDT), a government­funded body set up to promote egg
and sperm donation in the UK. The NGDT's tactics to get men to donate
(such as 2007's "Give a Toss" campaign) do seem to cater to the lowest
dominator. In fact, some of the practices to promote donations, cited inThe
Guardian, are both crass and patronising; for instance, I doubt any man is
going to donate sperm because they want to feel "special". Someone,
somewhere, needs to point out that men are capable of empathy and that
altruism, if portrayed in the right way, is reason enough.
Empathetic or not, the issue of identifiability looms large. Ole Schou of
Cryos International in Demark, the world's biggest sperm bank, told me that
the UK's problems can be solved in one move: offering anonymity to
donors, as is the norm in Denmark.
"The most important reason men don't donate in the UK is because only
very few men want to be identifiable," he said. "Anonymity has been
introduced for good reason ­ for ethical reasons, in order to protect the
child's interest. But the problem is that nobody takes responsibility for the
real outcome and the consequences of a lack of identifiable donation."
However, it doesn't stop there. According to Schou, our anal British
bureaucracy also gets in the way. "In UK, the legislation is very strict. The
HFEA (Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority) is a burden," he
said. "There's additional screening requirements, additional documents
required and, until now, no Laura Witjens [chair of the National Gamete
Donation Trust and, as it says on her Twitter bio, "cage rattler and change
maker in egg and sperm donation"]. I really admire Laura Witjens. She has
all the skills and motivations to make it a success, but I'm afraid that it's not
possible to attract enough donors under British laws and restrictions."
Human sperm cells (spermatozoa) magnified 3,140 times (Image via)
Schou says that the only way forward is to reintroduce anonymous
donation, citing nine other countries with a similar problem. Sweden, The
Netherlands, Austria, Switzerland, Norway, Australia, New Zealand,
Germany and Finland all suffered at least 85 percent of all donors
withdrawing their sperm after laws banning anonymous donation were
introduced.
The result, Schou said, is twofold. Firstly, a "grey market" emerges, with
infertile couples, single women and lesbian couples travelling to Denmark
for insemination from sperm held at Cryos, in order to circumnavigate UK
laws. Secondly, something Schou calls "cross­border reproductive care",
which Denmark also monopolises, being the leading sperm producers on
Earth. They are, in effect, the testes of the world, exporting a whopping 90
percent of their "production". Much of it makes it to our shores, as
illustrated by the "Invasion of the Viking Babies" headlines earlier this
year.
Schou believes the donor's autonomy ­ the ability to choose either
anonymity or identifiability ­ is the main reason Denmark are the world
leaders in sperm donation. He also cites lesser limitations on offspring (in
the UK, one man's sperm can only be used to provide for 10 families ­ in
Demark that figure is 25), less waiting times, more consumer selection
(here we have what Allan Pacey calls a failure to "provide for all ethnic
combinations") and the perhaps farfetched notion that Danes are just more
altruistic and "keen to help each other".
I don't believe that the Danes are more altruistic than us. I'd suggest the
reality of fathering a child who may one day track you down will always
outweigh the altruistic act of donation, regardless of nationality. But I also
think more could be done to ensure a greater social value is attributed to
sperm donation aside from a monetary kickback.
If men could be shown that someone, somewhere, just like them ­ with
similar worries, trying to make ends meet ­ requires sperm in order to have
a family, I believe more would, at the very least, engage with the idea of
donation. Instead, it's the old ideas of sperm donation that linger. And when
put into context with a debate such as this, it all seems like such a waste,
doesn't it?
@garethmay