Article
Assisted dying
Comment
Politics
4 min read

The assisted dying bill is an undignified mess

Literally life-changing legislation needs a parliament at its best not its worst.

George is a visiting fellow at the London School of Economics and an Anglican priest.

A parliamentary committee meets, sitting at wooden raised desks in a wood panelled room.
The bill committee meets.

The first clue came when MP Kim Leadbeater’s private members’ bill passed in the House of Commons at the end of November. She came outside to greet pro-euthanasia campaigners like she was emerging as a winner from the Big Brother house, in tears of joy, whooping and hugging and high-fiving, with prime minister Keir Starmer gurning awkwardly in her wake. 

For her and her supporters, this was indeed great news. But these optics were far from great. It was as though she was celebrating the consequence of the legislation she’d introduced: “Whoa! Wonderful news everybody! We’re going to be allowed to help people to kill themselves.” 

It’s not a good look, even to those who may wish for such assistance. Where was the dignity, the key word that assisted-suicide lobbyists have appropriated for their cause? Not in this carefree triumphalism, this cork-popping celebration of the prospect of death-on-demand. 

Since then, the bill’s faltering passage through parliament has been characterised by this absence of dignity, a kind of cowboy rustler pushing a herd of supporters in a single direction, towards statute. And this lack of dignity matters. Not just because it is, literally, the most life-changing legislation any of us will see in our lifetimes, but because the dignity of parliament matters very much indeed. 

I don’t mean the ritual flummery, the state opening by the monarch, people marching about with wigs and sticks, Black Rod and all that. I mean dignity in the sense with which we honour our democracy, the way in which we frame our legislature seriously and with due process. 

Leadbeater presents as a good person and there is no apparent evidence to the contrary. But she is an inexperienced parliamentarian. Her selection for the seat of Batley and Spen, now Spen Valley, was rushed through in 2021, memories remaining acutely sharp of the murder of her older sister, Jo Cox, in the constituency in 2016. And, naturally, she has sat on the Government’s backbenches for less than a year. 

 Her inexperience of parliamentary process and scrutiny has shown. Committee hearings have been rammed with those who support assisted suicide and held in unseemly haste, such is the rush to get it into law. Before her bill’s second reading, she described it as having the strongest safeguards in the world, each patient requiring a sign-off from a High Court judge. When this proved impractical, the judge was replaced with a social worker, which apparently was “even safer”. So, safer than even the strongest safeguards in the world?   

But more worrying still is how the passage of the bill has been factionalised. Leadbeater has alienated the mild-mannered by calling opposing voices “noise”, which is a bit like lamenting that a debate should have two sides at all. And she’s called those who disagree with her “unconstructive” and complained that opponents have “mobilised”. Well, duh. That’s how parliament works. Indeed, it’s part of its dignity, rather than a simple inconvenience for an MP in a hurry. 

The media have noticed this lack of respect for procedure. I’m not sure that there’s ever been such resistance to proposed assisted-suicide legislation in the public prints before. Even the Guardian, which might be relied upon to see it as a progressive cause, has turned more than ambivalent. Only columnist and assisted-suicide flagbearer Polly Toynbee is available for a piece that amounts to saying we should move along, there’s nothing to see here and Leadbeater’s bill is doing just fine. 

She, too, claims absurdly that opposition is only coming from people who oppose assisted suicide. Well, blow me down. Try as I might, I can’t trace her complaining that Lord Falconer’s supposedly independent Commission on Assisted Dying of 2011 was both funded and packed with his cause’s supporters.  

In passing, it should be noted what an underminer of parliamentary dignity is Falconer too. He has claimed that justice secretary Shabam Mahmood’s opposition to the bill should be discounted because of her “religious beliefs”. Mahmood is a Muslim. For a constitutional lawyer, Falconer shows scant regard for our constitution. We might as well say that his views should be discounted because he’s a progressive secularist.  

One might expect PM Keir Starmer to bring some quality to this, as an alleged stickler for legal procedure. It remains a mystery, as a supporter of the principle, that he’s left assisted suicide to a private members’ bill. If he really wanted it, it should surely be a Government bill. Cynics among us wonder if he has honoured a promise given to the terminally ill Esther Rantzen with token support for a private members’ bill, but knows it will fail.  

Again, lack of dignity. If dignity in dying means anything since it was misappropriated as a campaign slogan for assisted suicide, then it should be accompanied by dignified debate and amendment in parliament. This bill has provided precisely the opposite. Let it die.

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Care
Change
Community
Easter
2 min read

A day without water tapped into the best of us

In a crisis, community seeps through our walls.

Imogen is a writer, mum, and priest on a new housing development in the South-West of England. 

On a doorstep a man hands a bottle of water to another man.

Recently on our housing development we experienced a surprising addition to our lives. Due to a pretty major error, a main water pipe was hit by a digger… this resulted in 24 hours of no running water for our entire estate and the local school while the pipe was repaired. 

24 hours is a long time. In our house, water consumption over that time looks something like this: 

  • 1 dishwasher cycle 
  • 1-2 clothes wash cycles 
  • 2 loads of dish washing up 
  • 2 boys in a bath 
  • 2 showers 
  • 10-15 toilet trips 
  • various hand washing, plant watering, child play etc. 
  • 4-6 bowls of boiled pasta/rice 
  • 8-10 cold water drinks 
  • 20+ cups of tea 

Let me tell you, 24 unexpected hours without water was a challenge. But it also got me thinking. 

It got me thinking about privilege. In the UK, access to clean water is not a daily conscious consideration, it is assumed. We assume that we will have water when we turn on the kitchen tap, when we flush the toilet, and when we run a bath. We assume that the water out of the taps will be clean and safe. This is not the case for everyone. Around the world, one in four people do not have access to safe drinking water. Access to water is a universal human right, but in reality access to water shows our privilege. 

It also got me thinking about simplicity. Lent is a time for reflection and often in the Christian tradition it is a time for fasting. In previous years, I have fasted from multiple things: coffee, chocolate, Instagram, and this year Vinted and meat. But I have never fasted from clean, running water. There were many household chores and to-do list items that I simply couldn’t do because we didn’t have water. As with other fasting attempts, I hope that this unexpected space led me to prayer. There was a temporary, reflective simplicity to the absence of water. 

And it got me thinking about community. Crises bring out the worst and best in humanity. Though I could tell you a couple of horror stories, instead let me tell you about the heroes. Tessa, Tom, Marjay, Sarah, Vineeth, Megan, Danny. These heroes went out of their way to buy and distribute water across the development, to monitor and communicate updates from the water company, to offer support with boilers. Several houses had bottled water piled outside their homes for anyone who had run out. We had multiple unexpected water deliveries and neighbours checking in. Our community thrived as we struggled without water. In a crisis, community seeps through our insulated walls and isolated lives. In a crisis, community swells and surges showing that there is indeed good in this world. 

I’m glad we’ve got our water back. But I’m also glad for all the thinking. 

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