Article
Assisted dying
Care
Comment
Politics
6 min read

Assisted dying’s problems are unsolvable

There’s hollow rhetoric on keeping people safe from coercion.

Jamie Gillies is a commentator on politics and culture.

Members of a parliamentary committee sit at a curving table, in front of which a video screen shows other participants.
A parliamentary committee scrutinises the bill.
Parliament TV.

One in five people given six months to live by an NHS doctor are still alive three years later, data from the Department of Work and Pensions shows. This is good news for these individuals, and bad news for ‘assisted dying’ campaigners. Two ‘assisted dying’ Bills are being considered by UK Parliamentarians at present, one at Westminster and the other at the Scottish Parliament. And both rely on accurate prognosis as a ‘safeguard’ - they seek to cover people with terminal illnesses who are not expected to recover. 

An obvious problem with this approach is the fact, evidenced above, that doctors cannot be sure how a patient’s condition is going to develop. Doctors try their best to gauge how much time a person has left, but they often get prognosis wrong. People can go on to live months and even years longer than estimated. They can even make a complete recovery. This happened to a man I knew who was diagnosed with terminal cancer and told he had six months left but went on to live a further twelve years. Prognosis is far from an exact science. 

All of this raises the disturbing thought that if the UK ‘assisted dying’ Bills become law, people will inevitably end their lives due to well-meaning but incorrect advice from doctors. Patients who believe their condition is going to deteriorate rapidly — that they may soon face very difficult experiences — will choose suicide with the help of a doctor, when in fact they would have gone on to a very different season of life. Perhaps years of invaluable time with loved ones, new births and marriages in their families, and restored relationships. 

Accurate prognosis is far from the only problem inherent to ‘assisted dying’, however, as critics of this practice made clear at the – now concluded – oral evidence sessions held by committees scrutinising UK Bills. Proponents of Kim Leadbeater’s Terminally Ill Adults (End of Life) Bill and Liam McArthur’s Assisted Dying for Terminally Ill Adults (Scotland) Bill have claimed that their proposals will usher in ‘safe’ laws, but statements by experts show this rhetoric to be hollow. These Bills, like others before them, are beset by unsolvable problems. 

Coercion 

Take, for example, the issue of coercion. People who understand coercive control know that it is an insidious crime that’s hard to detect. Consequently, there are few prosecutions. Doctors are not trained to identify foul play and even if they were, these busy professionals with dozens if not hundreds of patients could hardly be counted on to spot every case. People would fall through the cracks. The CEO of Hourglass, a charity that works to prevent the abuse of older people, told MPs on the committee overseeing Kim Leadbeater’s Bill that "coercion is underplayed significantly" in cases, and stressed that it takes place behind closed doors. 

There is also nothing in either UK Bill that would rule out people acting on internal pressure to opt for assisted death. In evidence to the Scottish Parliament’s Health, Social Care and Sport Committee last month, Dr Gordon MacDonald, CEO of Care Not Killing, said: “You also have to consider the autonomy of other people who might feel pressured into assisted dying or feel burdensome. Having the option available would add to that burden and pressure.” 

What legal clause could possibly remove this threat? Some people would feel an obligation to ‘make way’ in order to avoid inheritance money being spent on personal care. Some would die due to the emotional strain they feel they are putting on their loved ones. Should our society really legislate for this situation? As campaigners have noted, it is likely that a ‘right to die’ will be seen as a ‘duty to die’ by some. Paving the way for this would surely be a moral failure. 

Inequality 

Even parliamentarians who support assisted suicide in principle ought to recognise that people will not approach the option of an ‘assisted death’ on an equal footing. This is another unsolvable problem. A middle-class citizen who has a strong family support network and enough savings to pay for care may view assisted death as needless, or a ‘last resort’. A person grappling with poverty, social isolation, and insufficient healthcare or disability support would approach it very differently. This person’s ‘choice’ would be by a dearth of support. 

As Disability Studies Scholar Dr Miro Griffiths told the Scottish Parliament committee last month, “many communities facing injustice will be presented with this as a choice, but it will seem like a path they have to go down due to the inequalities they face”. Assisted suicide will compound existing disparities in the worst way: people will remove themselves from society after losing hope that society will remove the inequalities they face. 

Politicians should also assess the claim that assisted deaths are “compassionate”. The rhetoric of campaigners vying for a change in the law have led many to believe that it is a “good death” — a “gentle goodnight”, compared to the agony of a prolonged natural death from terminal illness. However, senior palliative medics underline the fact that assisted deaths are accompanied by distressing complications. They can also take wildly different amounts of time: one hour; several hours; even days. Many people would not consider a prolonged death by drug overdose as anguished family members watch on to be compassionate. 

Suicide prevention 

 It is very important to consider the moral danger involved with changing our societal approach to suicide. Assisted suicide violates the fundamental principle behind suicide prevention — that every life is inherently valuable, equal in value, and deserving of protection. It creates a two-tier society where some lives are seen as not worth living, and the value of human life is seen as merely extrinsic and conditional. This approach offers a much lower view of human dignity than the one we have ascribed to historically, which has benefited our society so much.  

Professor Allan House, a psychiatrist who appeared before the Westminster Committee that’s considering Kim Leadbeater’s Bill, described the danger of taking this step well: “We’d have to change our national suicide prevention strategy, because at the moment it includes identifying suicidal thoughts in people with severe physical illness as something that merits intervention – and that intervention is not an intervention to help people proceed to suicide.” 

 Professor House expressed concern that this would “change both the medical and societal approach to suicide prevention in general”, adding: “There is no evidence that introducing this sort of legislation reduces what we might call ‘unassisted suicide’.” He also noted that in the last ten years in the State of Oregon – a jurisdiction often held up as a model by ‘assisted dying’ campaigners – “the number of people going through the assisted dying programme has gone up five hundred percent, and the number of suicides have gone up twenty per cent”. 

The evidence of various experts demonstrates that problems associated with assisted suicide are unsolvable. And this practice does not provide a true recognition of human dignity. Instead of changing the law, UK politicians must double down on existing, life-affirming responses to the suffering that accompanies serious illness. The progress we have made in areas like palliative medicine, and the talent and technology available to us in 2025, makes another path forwards available to leaders if they choose to take it. I pray they will. 

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Article
Culture
Film & TV
Politics
6 min read

Fear of the news means it needs to change

Here's how to rethink reporting.

Steve is news director of Article 18, a human rights organisation documenting Christian persecution in Iran.

A news cameraman holding a camera, stands back to back to a police officer.
Waldemar on Unsplash.

Several non-journalist friends have told me over the past few years that they have started to disconnect themselves from the news - in some cases entirely - so wearied have they become by the incessant gloom of our reporting.  

Meanwhile, new research from the Reuters Institute has found that people have been “turning away from the news” consistently across 17 countries tracked over the past decade - from the US to the UK, Japan to Brazil. 

And one of the primary reasons, the researchers discovered, is the “fatigue and overload” of negative news. 

Another factor was the declining trust in the media, which has again been something I have heard consistently from friends in recent years, with many telling me they are constantly reassessing who they turn to for news. 

Perhaps that is only healthy, but both trends suggest to me that there may be a problem with the way news currently is, and the effect it is having on us. 

One of the most regular examples of the “bad news” we journalists tell is the reporting of terror attacks, but whenever I hear news of an attack - whether here or elsewhere - I think not only of the immediate victims and their loved ones, but also those who may soon become victims by association. 

Perhaps the most obvious recent example here in the UK was the case of the Southport stabbings, a shocking incident that led to understandable - albeit misguided - outrage. 

As soon as it emerged that a “foreigner” - or at least someone who sounded like they might be a foreigner - was responsible, many jumped to the conclusion not only that he was an Islamist but also probably an asylum-seeker, and an illegal one at that. 

It later transpired, of course, that the 17-year-old who carried out the terrible attack had been born and raised in Wales - to “Christian” parents, no less. So not an asylum-seeker, after all, nor even a foreigner; and even though it later became clear that he had downloaded disturbing content including from Al-Qaeda, his inspiration seemed to come from a wide range of sources. 

Here was another example, our prime minister told us, that showed “terrorism had changed” and was no longer the work only of Islamists or the far-right but of “loners” and “misfits” of all backgrounds, common only in their sadism and “desperat[ion] for notoriety”. 

And yet, in the Southport case and no doubt many others, by the time the killer’s background and likely motive finally became clear, the horse had already bolted.  

In that particular case, the reaction was especially extreme, with mosques and refugee hotels attacked as part of widespread rioting. But even when there are no riots after such an attack, there can surely be little doubt that the minds of the wider British public will have been impacted in some way by the news. 

For some, perhaps the primary response will be increased fear - in general but also perhaps especially of those different from themselves. For others, on top of fear, might they also feel increased hatred, or at least mistrust? 

And such feelings will surely only increase with every new reported attack, especially when the perpetrator appears to be someone new to these shores, and even more so, it would seem, if it is an asylum-seeker. 

To ignore the reality that many attacks have been carried out by asylum-seekers in recent years is to ignore reality. But for those of us desperate not only to prevent the further polarisation of our society but also to protect the many legitimate refugees who wouldn’t dream of committing such attacks, what can be done? 

Perhaps it’s only because I’m a journalist, but in my opinion one major thing I think could help arrest the current trend would be for us to rethink the way in which we do news in general.  

Not in order to mislead the public or pull the wool over their eyes - if bad things keep happening, they must be reported, as must the identities of the perpetrators, as well as any trends in this regard - but by way of providing the necessary balance and context.  

For example, by looking into what percentage of attacks - here or elsewhere - have been committed by Islamists, foreigners, or asylum-seekers; or considering what percentage of the total population of such groups the attackers represent, and how this compares to statistics regarding other groups. 

The question we journalists - and those who read our words - need most to ask is whether we are doing a good job of informing the public about the world they live in. 

Might it also be helpful to undertake a general reconsideration of what constitutes news? Does, for example, bad news always have to reign supreme in the minds of those who curate our news cycle?  

A decade ago, I had it in mind to create a new app or perhaps even news service dedicated to rebalancing the news, such that bad news stories wouldn’t outnumber the good. Many others have had similar ideas in recent years, and several platforms have been launched, dedicated to the promotion of “good news” stories. And yet one could argue that such platforms risk being as unrepresentative of reality as those that tell only bad-news tales. Can’t a compromise be found? 

One of the first things you learn as a journalist, other than that sex sells, is that greater numbers of deaths, and especially those of children, always constitutes headline material. And one needs only to flick through today’s major news outlets to see that this practice remains almost universally upheld. But does it have to be so?  

And why is it that some conflicts and injustices will make our headlines, while others won’t?  

Take, for example, the Sudanese civil war or the recent beheading of 70 Christians in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Why is it that these horrors don’t make our headlines, while tragedies in Ukraine or Gaza do? Who makes the call, and for what reasons?  

Another long-established principle in journalism is to consider first and foremost who your audience is. So, for example, when writing for a British audience, to consider what might be of most interest to Brits. Are Ukraine and Gaza, for example, simply more relevant to British interests - in both senses of the word - than what is happening in the Global South? And even were that to be true, just because such principles of journalism are long-established, must they remain unchallenged? 

At its core, journalism is about informing, so in my opinion the question we journalists - and those who read our words - need most to ask is whether we are doing a good job of informing the public about the world they live in.  

And in my view, while a lot of good journalism is of course being done, the question of whether the public are receiving a representative picture of their environment is less clear.  

Whether or not the best approach to redress the balance is to dedicate whole news services to telling good-news stories, there’s surely little doubt that such stories are chronically underreported.  

And if our duty is not only to inform but also, by virtue of that, not to mislead, mightn’t it be argued that in failing to sufficiently well inform society about the real state of our world, we are in fact misleading them? 

No-one wants to end up in a Soviet-style “paradise” in which murders are simply denied in order to maintain the status quo, but nor, surely, do we want to live in a world in which people become unnecessarily fearful and hateful towards others, in part because of the news we feed them. 

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If you’re enjoying Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?

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