A COUPLE of months ago, lawyers launched a remarkable human rights case against the British government. One of the plaintiffs is a six-year-old girl, loved by her parents, healthy and normal in all respects. There鈥檚 just one problem: Emma (not her real name) may never be allowed to know the name of her genetic father. Not because no one knows who he is, but because 12 years ago the British government decided it should be a closely guarded secret.
She is not alone. In Britain, more than a thousand children a year are born following insemination with donor sperm, and as things stand, none will learn the identity of the person responsible for half of their genetic heritage. The Human Fertilisation and Embryology Act of 1990 stipulates that sperm donors should remain strictly anonymous, their names listed only on a confidential register kept in London.
At 18, children like Emma can learn whether they were born as a result of donor insemination, and before they marry they can ask whether the register indicates they are genetically related to their intended partner. But that鈥檚 it. People conceived through 鈥淒I鈥� do not even have the legal right to be told about their genetic father鈥檚 ethnic group, religion, occupation, eye, hair or skin colour, even though all this information is kept on the register.
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Such draconian secrecy is by no means universal. Several sperm banks in the US recruits donors who are willing to be identified. And Sweden, New Zealand and the Australian state of Victoria all now require sperm donors to be willing to disclose their identity. So why has Britain clung to the old rule? Mainly because doctors, fertility clinics and many Members of Parliament oppose change for reasons that are flawed or misunderstand what the reformers want.
Advocates of donor anonymity often argue that many parents of DI children will not want them to know their true genetic origins and that overriding these parental wishes would be wrong. Yet recent research suggests that as few as a quarter of such parents remain intent on not telling their children. An increasing number are joining support groups committed to telling the truth and to seeking disclosure of the donor鈥檚 identity. Many have found that telling children in sensitive ways how they came to be born enhances family relationships, not threatens them. And when parents decide to withhold the truth, one of the reasons they often cite is lack of available information about donors.
Another objection is that it would be unfair to sperm donors. Since 1990, when the present law was passed, thousands of men in Britain have donated sperm anonymously, never thinking they could be traced by their offspring. How could it be right to forcibly expose their identities now? It鈥檚 a justified objection 鈥� and the government has made it clear it will not consider doing so.
Many campaigners, including myself, want a reformed system in which all future sperm donors are recruited on a non-anonymous basis, and all previous sperm donors are given the option of volunteering to waive their anonymity. That way children like Emma will have at least a chance to learn about their genetic origins.
Which leads us to the biggest objection to reform. Fertility clinics claim there is already a shortage of sperm donors in Britain and that relaxing the anonymity rule could turn it into a drought. This seems unlikely. One survey of donor attitudes found that while only 15 per cent of potential sperm donors would donate if 鈥渋dentifying medical details鈥� were made available, 71 per cent of 鈥渆stablished鈥� donors said they would continue to donate. And countries that have already abolished anonymity do not lack donors. Sweden, it鈥檚 true, did experience a sharp temporary decline in donors. But this has since been reversed.
Indeed, the concern about sperm shortage can be turned on its head. Sperm donation in Britain clearly has an image problem. It starts with the obvious snigger factor and is compounded by the popular image of those most likely to donate: cash-strapped students seeking to supplement their loans. Secrecy only worsens the situation, making what ought to be celebrated as a life-creating act of altruism look somehow sordid and shameful. Abolishing donor anonymity could be the key to reversing this perception and attracting a new type of donor.
And here鈥檚 the heart of it. Reforming the system is still the right thing to do even if it does scare away donors. For at root this is an ethical issue, not a practical one to do with the supply of reproductive cells. Yes, people are more than the sum of their genes. But most of us are profoundly curious about our genetic heritage, and as medical science advances there are more and more ways in which we can benefit from knowing about it. We cannot continue to use the law to deny certain children the right to such information before they are even conceived, simply to make life easier for fertility clinics.
As David Gollancz, a British lawyer conceived by donor insemination, points out: 鈥淚f something is wrong, it does not become less wrong because it is convenient.鈥� Following this logic, if there are genuine reasons for maintaining anonymity, then donor insemination shouldn鈥檛 be practised at all.