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
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.
