Article
Comment
General Election 24
Leading
Politics
3 min read

Let’s not make saviours out of Sunak or Starmer

Politicians do not live up to messianic billing.
Looked down upon by crowds in galleries, a politician stands amid a throng of supporters
Kier Starmer at Scottish Labour's election launch.
Pam Duncan-Glancy via Twitter.

It was 2015 and I thought Ed Miliband was the saviour of the free world. Remember, this was before Covid and Brexit and Trump, and politics seemed so binary and easy. Left-Right. Government-Opposition. Thatcher, Major, Blair, Brown. Monoliths in my teenage eyes.  

The excitement of the novel 2010 hung parliament and the injustice (as I saw it) of Nick Clegg (remember him?) ‘getting into bed’ with David Cameron instead of Gordon Brown had carried me all the way to the A-level Politics classroom. I was watching Ed attempt to tell Jeremy Paxman that, hell yeah, he was tough enough. A hung Parliament threatened again, until it didn’t. The Conservatives won enough to govern and the hope swelling in my breast was trodden down by spending upper sixth watching Donald Trump sweep to power.  

I have learned enough since then not to cast Sir Kier Starmer in the same mould. Sunak’s snap election is not a choice between two saviours, but two politicians compromised by the grit of reality and the inheritance of a set of global circumstances. 

Boris Johnson and Liz Truss, figures held up for their political savvy and economic foresightedness respectfully. To put it mildly, they did not live up to their messianic billing.

Often, we can make these political figureheads into messiahs, those who will come on a wave of hope to fix the nation’s problems, govern wisely, and bring unity. Perhaps, approaching July 4th, these feelings are intensified.  

There is much in these pages excellently denoting the deliberate co-opting of Christ for nationalistic political purpose, and I am suggesting that we are often willing collaborators, bringing a religious devotion to our ideology and those which propound it: “If only it were insert politician who were running the country, then everything would be much better!”  

This almost cultic reverence was present in some circles surrounding both Boris Johnson and Liz Truss, figures held up for their political savvy and economic foresightedness respectfully. To put it mildly, they did not live up to their messianic billing. For others, this devotion was saved for Thatcher, Blair, Cameron, Corbyn.  

A word of wisdom to my teenage self? Passion for politics is no bad thing, but devotion to human ideology is misplaced. 

Rishi Sunak and Sir Kier Starmer do not quite have the same star power, with Starmer especially coming across as the more doughty-and-dependable type. But it was ever thus. Human nature is inherently cyclical, and we swing from one archetype to the next, always in the hope that the next one in will do a better job than the last. 

The messiah is of course a Jewish concept, the awaited one who will deliver them from their enemies and lead them to a state of peace. Many have claimed to be the awaited one, but only one has convinced a multitude. We read of Jesus of Nazareth in our carol services every year that the government will be on his shoulders and the greatness of his government and peace will have no end. At the end of this year in which a new government is formed, perhaps these age-old claims have increased significance. They invite us to look beyond the immediate and the physical, to look beyond those names who dominate headlines, claiming to be the one who will deliver change and reverse decline.  

Saint Paul has some wise words for those of us wondering how we can engage with a political world feeling more divisive and divided than ever. He tells us to pray for our government, whether you want Labour or Conservative and end up with the reverse. It is a tough job, and he tells us to give due honour to those who lead us, engaging with politics, giving it the respect it is due. But looking to politicians for deliverance? St Paul would call that folly. He only had one saviour. 

For deliverance, we must look beyond the territorial and the electoral, to one who does not promise vote share or positive polling, but sacrifice and justice; to one who comes to us not with populism or popularity, but with lowliness, humility, and integrity. A word of wisdom to my teenage self? Passion for politics is no bad thing, but devotion to human ideology is misplaced. Do not put your trust in the cycle of human proclivities, but in the one whose government will have no end. 

Article
Assisted dying
Care
Comment
Easter
5 min read

I know who will be most affected by legalising assisted dying

Contemplating lent revives hard memories and raises fresh fears.

Ryan is an ordained Priest in the Church of England, currently serving in south London. 

A close up of a forehead bearing an ash cross marked on it.
Ahna Ziegler on Unsplash.

“What’s that - a face tattoo?” 

These were the words of one person as I walked past them on the streets on a recent Wednesday, with the ashes of last year’s burnt palm-branches placed across my forehead in the shape of the cross.  

The cross has been a symbol of hope for over two millennia; that even in the most painful of circumstances, darkness does not have the final say, including in death.  

As a society, we don’t really talk about death that much. Margot Robbie’s Barbie was the quintessential party-pooper when she pondered: 

 “do you guys ever think about dying?”. 

It’s no fun to dwell on death and dying, and for many of us, we put it off as long as we can. That all changed last year with the introduction of the assisted dying bill into the Houses of Parliament. Our national attention was, for a rare moment, captured by death.  

As a parish priest, I’ve seen the finality of burying someone into the ground. I’ve seen the sadness in the eyes of those trying to grieve. 

The words of Ash Wednesday, which remind us that we are ‘but dust, and to dust we shall return’ are echoed in the famous words that the priest recites in those last moments of burial, ‘ashes to ashes, dust to dust’. In that moment, amongst the bereaved, there is no escaping the inevitability of death. It is the ultimate statistic, 1 in 1 die. 

Whilst death is of course universal and will affect us all, the impact of this assisted dying bill could have consequences for some of the most vulnerable in society.  

As I reflect on my time as a Priest in East London, this is not abstract theory, but something I lived with each day. I served amongst a hugely diverse, vibrant, community in one of the poorest parts of the city. As I try to picture some the people I’ve walked alongside, I know it is these lives that will be most affected.  

One of the reasons I have concerns about the bill is the prospect of these people being coerced into ending their own lives prematurely, by a world that has already told them their lives are of little value. There are already huge disparities in access to the current provision of palliative care at the end of life, particularly amongst people of colour, the disabled and the poor.  

Of the 500,000 people who die each year, 100,000 do not access the care they need. This number is skewed towards ethnic minorities and those who come from poorer backgrounds.  

There is much confusion and misinformation about what end-of-life care even is. Research conducted by Marie Curie shows that 1 in 5 people from an ethnic minority background believe Palliative Care is actually Euthanasia.  

We only need to look at what has happened around the world when the ‘right to die’ becomes a duty to die. Even with the best of intentions, other jurisdictions show us that safeguards rapidly deteriorate and those who are already vulnerable become even more so.  

I worry that the way in which this bill is being handled - rushed through, little time being given to properly chew over the profound consequences it may have - reflects the wider way we view death. 

By trying to provide a ‘choice’ for a certain group of people, the consequence will be taking away real choice from those who already have little. 

Yet we know that for those who do access it, palliative care can be hugely effective in improving their quality of life, and for some, they can even outlive their prognosis. During Ash Wednesday’s service, I met an elderly gentleman who was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer in 2019. He was told he had five months to live. He described every day of his six-year survival since as a ‘miracle’, his eyes filled with evident joy.  

Such a blessing stands in stark contrast to the lonely final days of my 96-year-old great grandmother. She was suddenly taken ill during the Covid-19 pandemic and was frantically rushed to a hospital. Amidst the chaos, exasperated by the restrictions against seeing family that were in place at the time, I distinctly remember confused conversations about placing her in a care home for her final days. It was clear she needed a lot of specialist attention, more than our family could provide ourselves.  As she was discharged to stay with our aunt, she never did reach that care home, as she died at home. She was buried in our local cemetery, with our family watching on Zoom.  

My final memory of my great-grandmother will be the FaceTime call we shared when she was taken to hospital, with the poor data connection and shaky picture. I am so grateful for the few family members who were able to be by her side when she died, but I’ve often wondered whether she fully received the care she actually needed during those final days, in the way she needed it.  

What my great-grandmother didn’t have a lot of at the end of her life was time.  

That’s also true for this bill. Concerns have been raised that only five hours of debate were given to this Bill in the chamber, comparatively short for a change in the law of this magnitude.  

I worry that the way in which this bill is being handled- rushed through, little time being given to properly chew over the profound consequences it may have- reflects the wider way we view death.  

Do we view death - and indeed the dying- as something to be shoved to one side, not spoken about in the hopes we can avoid its impact? Or do we view death as an important moment to review who and what matters most in life?  

Perhaps for some, the fact that Christians devote a period of 40 days to dwell on death may be one of the mysteries of faith. However, perhaps it’s not such a bad idea after all.  Death may bring with it fear, grief and pain and so we tend to avoid it. But do we risk missing out on much more? As we head into Easter, the cross still serves as a powerful reminder that, especially in death, Hope can be found, that Good has triumphed over evil, and Light shines even in the darkest of places.  

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