This is Prospect’s rolling coverage of the assisted dying debate. This page will be updated with the latest from our correspondent, Mark Mardell. Read the rest of our coverage here
27th November
Some MPs, poor and vulnerable souls that they are, feel under pressure because posters for and against assisted dying have appeared at Westminster Tube station. Three MPs want to stop the debate and instead have a royal commission. In both cases, like so many opinions in this debate, I detect the hidden hand of faith.
And of course there is much more overt religious intervention as well. An open letter, a plea for MPs to reject the assisted dying bill on Friday, has been signed by an impressive list of religious leaders—28 in all, including the archbishop of Westminster (who is the head of the Catholic Church in England), the bishop of London, the chief rabbi of the UK and Commonwealth, and the chair of the Mosques and Imams Advisory Board.
If this bill falls on Friday it will be because of religious leaders rallying the faithful, inside and outside parliament, and imposing their will on a largely non-believing nation.
Their argument centres on concerns for the most vulnerable, claiming if the bill became law it would create “the possibility of life-threatening abuse and coercion”.
Then they move on to the benefits of unassisted dying:
“We have witnessed how compassionate care, along with the natural processes of dying, allow those at the end of their life to experience important moments. We have seen relationships repair and families reconcile. We have seen lives end in love. Much can be lost by cutting these processes short.”
They conclude with an appeal for more money for palliative care. “It remains worryingly underfunded. Investment in palliative care is the policy of a truly compassionate nation.”
The letter is signed by Christian leaders from denominations as far apart as the Assyrian Church of the East and the Elim Pentecostal Churches, taking in the Coptic Church and the Salvation Army along the way. Not only leaders from Judaism and Islam, but Hindus, Buddhists, Sikhs and Zoroastrians are included in this wide multi-faith debate.
What unites these disparate figures, beyond a common belief in a deity, even if not the same one? They say: “Part of the role of faith leaders in communities is to provide spiritual and pastoral care for the sick and for the dying. We hold the hands of loved ones in their final days, we pray with families both before and after death. It is to this vocation that we have been called, and it is from this vocation that we write.”
The bishop of London, Sarah Mullally, has an additional right to contribute to the debate, as in a previous incarnation she was chief nursing officer. In a statement to clergy in the Diocese of London, she says the opposition of the Church of England “has always been grounded in a concern for the welfare of the most vulnerable: in biblical terms the widow, the orphan and the stranger”.
“My own approach is not just underpinned by my faith, but also my time as a nurse, especially caring for those who were dying,” she continues. “There are many who die well. As dying is part of living, there is often life to be lived during this time… We also need to guard against unintended consequences. Giving choice to some will take choice away from others, especially the most vulnerable in our society: the elderly, those living in poverty, those who are at risk because they are disabled, and those in coercive relationships. It will widen the existing health inequalities which are such a scar on our national life.”
Given that she is “leading on this conversation on behalf of the Lords’ Spiritual, the bishops in the House of Lords”, I do find it curious that she doesn’t even skirt lightly around the profound theological arguments behind these fears.
It is surely part of the job of religious leaders to reflect on such weighty philosophic matters, as the ex-archbishop of Canterbury does in conversation here in Prospect.
So if they’ve got something to say I am happy to listen with respect. What I do not respect is what they don’t say. What has made me slightly cross throughout the debate is the rather sly attempt to disguise their unfashionable theology with decidedly on-trend concerns about the vulnerable.
It may be a while before this blog gets around to investigating the Hindu concept of Prayopavesa or the implications of Zoroastrianism’s dokhma, for the fact is the thrust of this campaign is being led by the three great religions of the book: the Abrahamic faiths of Christianity, Islam and Judaism.
Behind all that talk of the vulnerable lurks a fundamental principle. That God gives the gift of life and only He can take it away. “The Lord brings death and makes alive; he brings down to the grave and raises up.” (1 Samuel 2:6)
This is as clear in some of their communications with their flocks as it is absent in their posters and letters to MPs.
The chief rabbi said he believed that the passing of the bill, should it become law, had “the potential to fundamentally alter the way we regard life as uniquely precious”.
“When we numb, or remove altogether, our reverence for the precious gift of life itself, we withdraw from a moral standard, to which we might never return,” he said.
In evidence given to a parliamentary select committee in 2005, the chief rabbi’s office quoted Rabbi JD Bleich, an expert on Jewish law and ethics, setting out the Orthodox line.
“Any positive act designed to hasten the death of the patient is equated with murder in Jewish law, even if the death is hastened only by a matter of moments,” he wrote.
“No matter how laudable the intentions of the person performing an act of mercy-killing may be, his deed constitutes an act of homicide.”
There you have it: however MPs change the law, assisted dying remains murder in the eyes of the Lord, or at least in the opinion of his servant, JD Bleich.
Islam shares this implacable opposition. On the front page of the website for the East London Mosque the imam Shaykh Abdul Qayum writes: “With MPs set to vote next week on the Assisted Dying Bill, I want to share the clear and unambiguous position of Islam on end-of-life issues and human suffering.
“Life is a sacred trust from Allah (God), Who tells us clearly in the Qur’an:
Allah is the one who gives life and death
[Surah Ali-‘Imran, 3:156]
“This establishes the Islamic principle that humans have no right to determine when life should end…
“The Qur’an is clear about suicide:
Do not kill yourselves, for Allah is ever Merciful to you.
“We must remember that both hard times and good times are part of Allah’s plan,” Qayum continued. “The Qur’an reminds us that Allah created death and life ‘to test which of you is best in conduct’ (Qur’an 67:2). When faced with suffering, our Islamic response must be to show patience, strengthen our faith, and come together as a community to support those in pain—not to seek ways to end life early.”
But it is clearly the Catholic Church that is leading this charge—it is their newspapers and campaigning groups that are full of lobbying material on the subject.
Pope Francis has made it clear that suffering “teaches us to live human and Christian solidarity, imitating God's style of closeness, compassion and tenderness.”
Of course, religious leaders not only have a right but also a duty to contribute their views to such an important public debate. However, what worries me is the lack of clarity and honesty in their motivations. The question I would pose them is this: if you could be certain that the proposed legislation protected the vulnerable and ensured that it could not be expanded or abused, would you then vote for it? I think the answer would be clear—no.
What enrages me is the idea that people want to restrict my choices based on beliefs I regard as myths, fundamentally untrue. Don’t get me wrong—I also see life as a wonderful gift, a secular miracle, a defiance of entropy that shouldn’t be squandered lightly. But I don’t believe its value stems from a decree by some Supreme Being.
Bossing me about on the basis of the alleged opinions of a fantasy is about as valid as consulting the tooth fairy about plans for NHS dentistry or Father Christmas on inheritance tax on gifts.
But there’s another belief wrapped up here that annoys me even more and goes to the heart of my fears for the vulnerable—that some religious leaders see their agony as a potent sacrifice on the altar of a deity peculiarly obsessed with sex, death and blood sacrifice.
This is spelt out in a recent pastoral letter that offers a Catholic response to assisted suicide, by the bishop of Lancaster, Bishop Paul Swarbrick. He claims to be motivated by compassion, although of a distinctly odd sort.
“If this passing world is all that exists, then we can understand the fruitlessness of a slow and terminal suffering being cut short for the sake of this world’s compassion,” he writes. “Faith insists on a different way. Our suffering, living in the shadow of death, is radically altered by the presence of Jesus, and the hope He gives shows us a better way. It is ways of showing love and care which need to increase rather than termination of life. Love and care are effective ways of raising someone out of misery.”
As St Paul puts it: “We also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.” (Romans 5:3-4)
Now, don’t get me wrong—there’s something profoundly beautiful in the myth of a god who loved the world so much that he was willing to come and suffer among us, as one of us. But to me, that’s all it is—a myth. I'm revolted by the insistence of the cult of the tortured god, which turns this idea on its head and claims their god, with all the sophistication of an angry toddler, demands that we share in this suffering, claiming we are ennobled by it.
It will be grotesque if the bill is defeated on Friday because of this hidden and twisted argument—in a post-Christian society people should not have to endure torment for the sake of someone else’s beliefs.
26th November
4pm
Will Friday’s debate be cancelled?
Probably not, but stopping the debate is the aim of an amendment put down by a cross-party alliance in the last few hours. Ben Spencer, a Conservative MP, Munira Wilson, a Liberal Democrat, and Labour’s Anna Dixon have co-sponsored it.
The amendment reads: “This House declines to give a Second Reading to the Terminally Ill Adults (End of Life) Bill because the House’s procedures for the consideration of private members’ bills do not allow for sufficient debate on and scrutiny of a bill on a matter of this importance.”
Dr Spencer, the MP for Runnymede and Weybridge, told the Telegraph: “Irrespective of one’s view on the rights and wrongs of assisted dying legislation, this area should be scrutinised and debated properly prior to a vote in parliament.
“There have been concerns raised from a range of professionals, including judges and medics, around the provisions of the bill and that this is being rushed through.”
He added: “This amendment calls for the groundwork to be done first, including legal review, consultation and assessment of palliative care provision, so that parliament can have a properly-informed debate and vote on assisted dying.”
Kim Leadbeater tells me: “The selection of amendments is entirely a matter for the Speaker, but it’s clear that the amendment in question is intended to prevent this vital issue being debated at all. I believe parliament would be failing in its duty if it did not take this opportunity to address a reform that is long overdue and has overwhelming public support. As the leader of the House, Lucy Powell, has said, my private members’ bill will have at least as much time for debate and scrutiny as any other piece of legislation. I look forward to starting that process with a respectful and compassionate debate on Friday.”
3pm
When people gather on Friday to support and oppose Leadbeater’s bill there will be a fair few wheelchairs among the throng, their occupants determined to be heard.
Perhaps I was being naive to assume that disabled groups would support the assisted dying bill. Worse still, I now worry this assumption reveals precisely the bias they fear: that society views disabled people as prime candidates for an assisted death. Even so, I was taken aback by the intensity of opposition from some campaigners, who spoke as though this legislation marked a slippery slope toward Nazi-style eugenics. To understand their perspective, I spoke with three prominent disability advocates.
Phil Friend, who is now 79, was paralysed at the age of three when he was caught up in the polio epidemic that was sweeping the UK, so it seems appropriate that he’s a leading light in the defiantly titled Not Dead Yet campaign. It was set up in 1996 in the US for one purpose, and one purpose alone: to fight the legalisation of assisted suicide. Friend’s first job was as a social worker but he has been involved in disability rights for years, and played a big part in campaigning for the 1995 Disability Discrimination Act. He says he’s the negotiator who goes in through the front door after more militant “smearing paint on Downing Street-type activists” have kicked it in. He jokes he prefers protesting in a warm room.
He feels it is impossible to have enough safeguards to protect the really vulnerable.
“I think celebrities like Esther Rantzen and others who line up with Dignity in Dying, and have a very powerful media influence are, generally speaking, well-to-do, generally speaking, well-educated, often living in reasonably good living circumstances, and so on and so forth.
“The people I’m interested in live on the 13th floor of a block of flats in Tower Hamlets. They can’t get any social care, can’t get any independent living agreements, and are living with a family that is stretched to breaking point. I don’t see how any of these safeguards protect that individual.
“So, we see this as a protection of vulnerable people. We’re not saying that we’re anti-suicide—although I don’t think it’s a good idea—but if somebody feels that’s the only solution, fair enough. What we are anti is being assisted to do it, as that leads to coercion.
“I think when you’re living in poverty, the abject poverty that many disabled people are in, coercion is often almost institutionalised. It’s not your daughter telling you to kill yourself; it’s just that, looking around, you can see no alternative to any kind of life.”
Why does he not think the bill’s safeguards are enough?
“So, two doctors and a judge are supposed to sign this off after a period of time. OK, one of the doctors has to know you; the other doctor doesn’t. And, obviously, it goes to a High Court judge from the Family Division. There are 18 judges in the Family Division that could hear these cases. This time, it is estimated that there will be 5,000 to 6,000 cases a year. That’s 400 cases each that have to be done within six months, because obviously one of the safeguards is that you’ve got to be terminally ill, with only up to six months to live.
“So, how the hell does a judicial system that’s already falling apart deal with all of that? We think what will happen is it will rubber-stamp—it won’t actually hear all these cases. So, that’s one massive issue for us.
“The other thing is the idea that our doctors know us. I don’t know about you, but every time I go into my surgery, I see a different doctor. The days of the old family GP are long gone, so it’s kind of: how well do they know you? How well are they able to? That’s one thing.
“The other thing is, doctors are not trained to look at coercion. They’re not trained to pick up whether people are under pressure—that’s not part of their skill set. So, we’re going to have to embark on a massive training programme for GPs if that’s where this thing goes—and it happens very regularly. So, although we don’t necessarily align with the idea [that the bill would lead to] eugenics, we do see this basic societal view that disabled people are suffering, that our lives would be better if we just... died.”
This issue is of personal interest to me as someone who, in the last couple of months, has come to accept being described as disabled. Initially reluctant, I now willingly embrace the term—not without hesitation, but increasingly recognising the advantages it brings.
From access to assisted boarding on trains and planes, to a seat on the viewing platform at standing-only gigs, identifying as disabled has granted me practical benefits I hadn’t fully appreciated before. But this tentative embrace has also forced me to confront just how little I truly understand about the broader conversations surrounding disability.
Friend highlights a critical distinction between those of us who acquire physical impairments later in life and those who have lived with disabilities from the outset. Our attitudes toward debates like this are often shaped by different experiences. He suggests that for those facing recent diminishment it can feel overwhelming, even life-ending. The sheer weight of the change can make some yearn for an escape. I don’t entirely recognise that, but take the point.
In contrast, people who have lived with a condition all their lives often bring a resilience born of long-term advocacy and adaptation. They are accustomed to fighting—not just for survival but for dignity, equality and recognition.
This is certainly true of Dr Miro Griffiths, whose perspective flows from both personal experience and professional expertise. A scholar in disability studies at the University of Leeds, a policy adviser to the UK government and European Commission and someone who has lived with a condition causing progressive muscle weakness since birth, Miro depends on 24-hour personal assistance and advanced technology. He sees this debate as being less about personal choice than policy priorities.
“This is really about the role of the state,” he begins. “There’s a real danger here—this debate is fundamentally about how we value and culturally perceive the worth of certain lives.”
For many disabled people, life is a constant battle with the authorities, a draining and exhausting fight for basic rights. “Some people may choose this not because they genuinely want their life to end, but because they feel their life is no longer tolerable—because of the way society is organised,” he says.
He believes this creates a dangerous precedent. “I think it’s a recipe for disaster. It also fundamentally changes how we understand and talk about taking one’s own life. What we’re setting up is a twin-track approach: for some people, we’ll do everything in our power to stop you from taking your life. For others, we’ll invest in the infrastructure to help you end it.
“I’m 35, and I’ve probably spent 10 to 15 years battling my local authority for adequate support. And now to hear, ‘Well, here’s a faster mechanism for you to end your life’—it’s an indictment of how we allocate resources. It’s deeply troubling.”
I ask if he can imagine his condition worsening to the point where he might prefer to die.
“Death has always been a prominent feature in my life. When I was about 12, my consultant told me that without the right interventions, I was probably only three days away from death.
“There are times when my condition flares up, and it becomes incredibly difficult to manage. I’m 35 now, and I know that eating and swallowing are much harder than when I was a child. There might come a time when I have to contemplate using a feeding tube or not eating at all. My breathing has changed over the years, and I now need a machine to help me breathe at night.”
He pauses but remains resolute. “I’ve come to terms with that. For me, it’s about trying to live the best life I can for as long as I can. That’s why my focus has always been on getting the support I need to live the life I want. That’s been my priority, and it will be until I die.”
Behind Friend and Miro’s opposition to the bill lies a raw sense of injustice—a long-term desire to confront systemic frustrations and to persevere, no matter the odds. Beneath it all, there’s a palpable irritation at how much time and energy is being devoted to this matter, while their own struggles remain sidelined. The implicit frustration is clear: why focus so much on this issue when funding, effort and political will could instead be directed towards improving everyday services that disabled people rely on?
They both tell me, unequivocally, that they are atheists. It heartens me that their opposition isn’t rooted in religious belief but in a deep concern for the broader implications of this legislation. But there’s a dynamic process here as well. David Cameron’s austerity and Covid have highlighted what is going on.
This broader shift in mood is exemplified by the recent decision taken by Disability Rights UK. Last month, its board voted unanimously to move from a neutral stance to outright opposition. Fazilet Hadi, the group’s head of policy, who has been blind since the age of nine, explained what drove this change: “Our experience during the Covid pandemic was a wake-up call. We felt that the lives of disabled people were undervalued—simply not seen as equal. We saw this in the way disabled people struggled to access critical care, in the blanket ‘do not attempt resuscitation’ orders sent to care homes and in the disproportionate deaths of young people with learning disabilities. These examples weren’t isolated; they were systemic.
“That experience made us pause and reflect. If our lives aren’t valued equally now, how can we trust that this law won’t pose risks to disabled people in the future? Instead of focusing on helping people to die, we should invest in really good healthcare and palliative care. Let’s improve lives rather than culturally shift towards ending them.”
These arguments against this bill are tremendously compelling and strike me with a force no others have come close to. In particular, Miro’s thoughtful point that what appears to be the exercise of individual choice can end up dictating society’s stance, which risks being damaging and hurtful to a particular group of people.
It must be deeply frustrating to spend a lifetime fighting for more funding for a cause, only to see this debate blithely shift to one of principle—blind to financial consequences. But surely it is necessary to get the principles right first.
The claim that it is illogical for services to simultaneously discourage suicide and yet facilitate it only appears to have coherence. Consider this: we discourage people from visiting accident and emergency departments for minor injuries, yet we rush to treat them if they become life-threatening. Is that a contradiction? After all, “different strokes for different folks” surely applies.
To be brutal, the destination many of us fear and try desperately to avoid is already home for them—not a comfortable home, but one they with grit and determination make the best of. Maybe I would—I will—too. I want to have the option to avoid finding out.
Beyond these fears and irritations lies something more profound: a deep concern that society’s understanding of a “good death” could shift profoundly—and detrimentally for vast swathes of people. This fear is critical, yet the way this bill is framed is a deliberate attempt to insist this isn’t the case. It seems desperate to avoid grappling with something so vast, so profound. To me, this is one of its weaknesses.
25th November
5pm
Yet another opinion poll suggests a clear majority of the British public want the law to change, but supporters of Kim Leadbeater’s bill on assisted dying must be feeling increasingly nervous.
This week marks a pivotal moment in the debate over assisted dying—and whether or not the UK will join the 11 countries, 10 US states (as well as Washington DC) and six Australian states, where it is legal.
By early Friday evening we should know if the bill is on its way to becoming the law of the land. The debate, beginning at a few minutes past 9am on Friday 29th November, will culminate in a crucial vote, with full coverage available here. It promises to be quite the occasion, given that the fractious disagreements among Labour MPs seem to be getting hotter and hotter all the time.
If Keir Starmer’s recent intervention was intended to lower the temperature and cool tempers, it seems the justice secretary Shabana Mahmood didn’t get the memo. In a letter to her constituents, she used language so emotive that Wes Streeting’s remarks pale by comparison.
She wrote: “Sadly, recent scandals—such as Hillsborough, infected blood and the Post Office Horizon—have reminded us that the state and those acting on its behalf are not always benign. I have always held the view that, for this reason, the state should serve a clear role. It should protect and preserve life, not take it away. The state should never offer death as a service.”
Then for good measure she added: “We must never accept the wrongful deaths of some in exchange for the desired deaths of others. That line, once crossed, will be crossed for ever.
“The right to die, for some, will—inexorably and inevitably—become the duty to die for others. And that is why I will be voting against this bill.”
Headlines about “state death service” were inevitable.
If Streeting was thought to have overstepped the mark, Mahmood has pole-vaulted over it, while sticking two fingers up at Starmer. Just as inevitable as those headlines are questions about his authority and political nous.
Work and pensions secretary Liz Kendall generously told the BBC and Sky News that although she would vote for the bill she not would criticise “good colleagues [who] have strong opinions about this”. Nor would she speculate if they could keep their jobs if the bill passed.
I will though. Streeting has given himself plenty of wriggle-room and neither he nor the Labour leader would want to shift him from his central role of running the NHS. Mahmood might find it harder to carry on delivering a “death service” and dealing with the knotty legal complications as the bill goes through committee. If she doesn’t jump, Starmer will be tempted to give her the push—but probably won’t want to antagonise the antis by cementing the divisions with a sacking. I would want her gone, but he may be more forgiving. Perhaps a shift to another high-visibility job will be in order. But it may not come to that.
In another major blow to the bill, former prime minister Gordon Brown has surprised many of us by coming out against it. Brown, in a typically thoughtful piece, argues:
“An assisted dying law, however well intended, would alter society’s attitude towards elderly, seriously ill and disabled people, even if only subliminally, and I also fear the caring professions would lose something irreplaceable—their position as exclusively caregivers.”
But he begins with an intensely personal story. “Jennifer, the baby daughter my wife Sarah brought into the world a few days after Christmas 2001, died after only 11 days. By day four, when the extent of her brain haemorrhage had been diagnosed, we were fully aware that all hope was gone and that she had no chance of survival. We could only sit with her, hold her tiny hand and be there for her as life ebbed away. She died in our arms. But those days we spent with her remain among the most precious days of my and Sarah’s lives. The experience of sitting with a fatally ill baby girl did not convince me of the case for assisted dying; it convinced me of the value and imperative of good end-of-life care.”
As this week unfolds, there’ll be many such heartbreaking stories, from each side, as parliament finds itself at the centre of a debate with global resonance. The eyes of the world will on us as the latest nation grapple to with one of the most profound ethical dilemmas of our time. Follow this page for in-depth coverage. Later in the week, I will publish an interview with disability campaigners.
