Article
Assisted dying
Comment
Justice
5 min read

Will clinicians and carers objecting to assisted death be treated as nuisances?

The risk and mental cost of forcing someone to act against their conscience.
A tired-looking doctor sits at a desk dealing with paperwork.
Francisco Venâncio on Unsplash.

After a formal introduction to the House of Commons next Wednesday, MP’s will debate a draft Bill to change UK legislation on Assisted Dying. Previously, a draft Bill was introduced in the Scottish Parliament in March 2024, and is currently at committee stage. Meanwhile, in the House of Lords, a Private Member’s Bill was introduced by Lord Falconer in July and currently awaits its second reading. These draft Bills, though likely to be dropped and superseded by the Commons Bill in the fullness of time, give an early indication of what provision might be made on behalf of clinicians and other healthcare workers who wish to recuse themselves from carrying out a patient’s end of life wishes on grounds of Conscientious Objection.  

There are various reasons why someone might want to conscientiously object. The most commonly cited are faith or religious commitments. This is not to say that all people of faith are against a change in the law – there are some high-profile religious advocates for the legalisation of Assisted Dying, including both Rabbi Dr Jonathan Romain and Lord Carey, the former Archbishop of Canterbury. Even so, there will be many adherents to various faith traditions who find themselves unable to take part in hastening the end of someone’s life because they feel it conflicts with their views on God and what it means to be human. 

However, there are also Conscientious Objectors who are not religious, or not formally so. Some people, perhaps many, simply feel unsure of the rights and wrongs of the matter. The coming debates will no doubt feature discussion of how changing the law for those who are terminally ill in the Netherlands and Canada has to lead to subsequent changes in the law to include those who are not terminally, but instead chronically ill. The widening of the eligibility criteria has reached a point where, in the Netherlands, one in every 20 people now ends their life by euthanasia. This troubling statistic includes many who are neurodivergent, who suffer from depression or are disabled. It is reasonable that, even if a Conscientious Objector does not adhere to a particular religion, they can be allowed to object if they feel uneasy about the social message that Assisted Dying seems to send to vulnerable people.  

“You will often find that legislation that provides a right to conscientious objection is interpreted by judges these days in a way that seems to treat conscientious objectors as nuisances” 

Mehmet Ciftci

  Conscientious Objection clauses can themselves send a social message. A response to the Scottish Bill produced by the Law Society of Scotland notes concern over the wording of the Conscientious Objection clause, as it appears to be more prescriptive in the draft Bill than in previous Acts such as the Abortion Act of 1967. In the case of any legal proceedings that arise from a clinician’s refusal to cooperate, the current wording places the burden of proof onto the Conscientious Objector, stating (at 18.2):  

In any legal proceedings the burden of proof of conscientious objection is to rest on the person claiming to rely on it.  

The Bill provides no indication of what is admissible as ‘proof’. Evidence of membership of a Church, Synagogue, Mosque or similar might be the obvious starting point. But where does that leave those described above, who object on grounds of personal conscience alone? How does one meaningfully evidence an inner sense of unease?  

The wording of the Private Member’s Bill, currently awaiting its second reading in the House of Lords, provides even less clarity, stating only (at 5.0): 

A person is not under any duty (whether by contract or arising from any statutory or other legal requirement) to participate in anything authorised by  this Act to which that person has a conscientious objection. 

Whilst this indicates that there is no duty to participate in assisting someone to end their life, there remains a wider duty of care that healthcare professionals cannot ignore. Thus, a general feature in the interpretation of such conscience clauses in medicine is that that the conscientious objector is under an obligation to refer the case to a professional who does not share the same objection. This can be seen in practice looking at abortion law, where ideas around conscientious objection are more developed and have been tried in the courts. In the case of an abortion, a clinician can refuse to take part in the procedure, but they must still find an alternative clinician who is willing to perform their role, and they must still carry out ancillary care and related administrative tasks.  

Placing such obligations onto clinicians could be seen as diminishing rather than respecting their objection. Dr Mehmet Ciftci, a Researcher at the McDonald Centre for Theology, Ethics and Public Life at the University of Oxford comments:  

You will often find that legislation that provides a right to conscientious objection is interpreted by judges these days in a way that seems to treat conscientious objectors as nuisances who are just preventing the efficient delivery of services. They are forced to refer patients on to those who will perform whatever procedure they are objecting to, which involves a certain cooperation or facilitation with the act. 

This touches everyone, even those who (if the Bill becomes law) will still choose to conscientiously object. Therefore, it is important to consider that the human conscience is a very real phenomenon, which means that facilitating an act that feels morally wrong can give rise to feelings of guilt or shame, even if one has not been a direct participant.  

Psychologists observe that when feelings of guilt are not addressed, if they are treated dismissively or internalised, this can significantly erode self-confidence and increase the likelihood of depressive symptoms. But even before modern psychology could speak to the effects of guilt, biblical writers already had much to say on the painful consequences of living with a troubled conscience. In the Psalms, more than one ancient poet pours out their heart to God, saying that living with guilt has caused their bones to feel weak, or their heart to feel heavy, or their world to feel desolate and lonely.   

If the Conscientious Objection clauses of the new Bill being proposed on Wednesday are not significantly more robust than those in the draft Bills proposed thus far, then perhaps that is something to which we should all conscientiously object? There is much to discuss about the potential rights and wrongs of legalising Assisted Dying, but there is much to discuss about the rights and wrongs of forcing people to act against their consciences too.  

Article
Comment
Football
Justice
5 min read

The 50-year injustice at the heart of women’s football

Now we need to do these two things to put right decades of disparity
A victorious women's football team celeberate.
It came home.
The Football Association.

I don’t normally like men’s international football. I spend all season wishing Bukayo Saka and Jordan Pickford nothing but misfortune and now, suddenly, I’m expected to cheer them on? Not for me, thanks. I’ll stick to revelling in scouse Schadenfreude when football, inevitably, does not come home. 

By contrast, I find the Lionesses much easier to support. That’s probably because, to my shame, I don’t really follow the Women’s Super League as much as I should. I don’t watch them with any petty grudges lingering in my mind. It does mean, however, that I can happily join the 12.2 million other people tuning in to watch Chloe Kelly hop, skip, and volley England to another European Championship. 

It also helps that they seem to keep winning in the most implausible ways possible. There’s a stat going round social media at the moment that, across all the knock-out games of this Euros, England were only ahead for 4 minutes and 52 seconds. Incredible. 

The Lionesses have – yet again – managed to show their nation the joy and drama of football and look set to inspire yet more women and girls to get involved in grass roots football. Women’s football, it would seem, is in rude health. But, look beneath the surface a little, and there are still significant disparities between the women’s game and the men’s game. 

In May, Chelsea effectively sold their women’s team to themselves: they sold the team to BlueCo (Chelsea’s parent company) for a reported £198.7m. This is not the first time Chelsea have engaged creative accounting. In April. 2024, the club revealed it had sold two hotels it owned to one of BlueCo’s sister companies (a move later upheld by the Premier League itself). A whole women’s football team – a good one, at that! – being leveraged for accounting purposes. 

Elsewhere, Liverpool Women’s Team sold their star player – Canadian forward Olivia Smith – to Arsenal for a world record fee of … £1m. To put that into context, Liverpool’s men’s team have already bought Florian Wirtz for roughly £116m this summer. They may add to that by buying Alexander Isak for anywhere up to £150m. And that’s to ignore the purchases Hugo Ekitike (£69m), Milos Kerkez (£40.8m), or Jeremie Frimpong (£35m). Moreover, the first male player to be sold by an English club was Trevor Francis, sold by Birmingham City to Nottingham Forrest. The year? 1979. 46 years ago. 

In purely financial terms, then, the women’s game seems to be about 50 years behind the men’s. And yet, there are the Lionesses. They have just retained the European Championship. They have made three finals in a row, winning the Euros twice and narrowly losing the World Cup final in 2023. By contrast, the men’s team famously haven’t won a major trophy since 1966. 

And so why does women’s football exist in an alternative financial universe about 50 years behind the men’s game? Well, I think a big part of it is making up for lost time. 

The FA banned women from playing at FA-affiliated grounds between 1921 and 1971. Did you know that? It’s one of the UK’s greatest sporting shames and yet it’s hardly common knowledge. How like this country to front up to its institutional mistakes with silence. 

For 50 years women were effectively unable to participate in the sport in any meaningful and professional way. 50 years. Where have we heard that number before? 

Prior to this, women’s football had been rather popular. Dick, Kerr Ladies FC regularly attracted matchday audiences of thousands. In 1920, the year before the FA ban, 53,000 fans went to Goodison Park to watch they play against St. Helens. For context, this is a crowd so big the vast majority of Premier League stadiums would not be able to accommodate it. It would fill Brentford’s stadium three times over, and there would still be people queuing up outside. 

For 50 years, men’s football was able to accelerate and grow while women’s football matches simply weren’t possible. Who knows where women’s football would be now, if it had been allowed to continue with the successes it had won for itself. 

The success of the men’s game is built, in part, upon the enforced stagnation of the women’s game. People watched men’s football because it was the only football it was possible to watch. Men’s football owes its success in part to this. I don’t see how we can say otherwise. In response to this, I wonder if there are two things the sport might do to attempt to rectify this somewhat: one big, one small. 

First, the big change. I wonder if there does need to be some form of reparations instituted to restore parity and to right the wrongs of the past? I know this won’t be popular. I love football, and I love it when my football club spends loads of money on players. I love that Liverpool (men’s team) might spend over £100m on two separate players this summer. I probably shouldn't be rubbing my hands at this, but if I’m honest, I am. 

But at least some of this money ought to be diverted away from the men’s game and funnelled towards the women’s game. If men’s football is built in no small part on the enforced cessation of women’s football, then this seems only to be right. It’s not about punishing men’s football or paying a penalty for wrongdoing. It’s simply about restoring back to women’s football that which rightfully belongs to it. 

Second, the small change. We should start calling men’s football teams ‘Men’s Football Teams’. When I talk about Liverpool Men’s Team, I just say ‘Liverpool’. I know, and anyone listening to me knows, that I mean the men’s team. I then add ‘Women’s’ when I’m talking about the Women’s Team. 

The effect of this is that the ‘Men’s Team’ becomes the ‘default’ way of thinking about football. It is the ‘normal’ way of engaging with the sport, and this is then qualified or relativised by my talking about ‘Women’s football’ elsewhere. ‘Women’s Football’ becomes a smaller sub-category of the bigger category of ‘football’ as a whole, which is implicitly linked to ‘Men’s football’ specifically. 

By taking the time to specify ‘Men’s Football’, we remind one another that football needn’t be played by men at all. That it, too, is just one way in which the sport might be engaged with or played. Not the ‘default’ or ‘correct’ way the sport exists. It’s a small change that, with time, may have a big effect on the way the sport as a whole of perceived. 

50 years of injustice cannot be repaired overnight. There is a lot of work to be done to undo the wrongs of football’s historic treatment of women. But the sooner men’s football starts, the sooner justice will be restored. 

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