Article
Assisted dying
Care
Comment
Death & life
6 min read

What do you make of Esther?

A campaigner’s call to change an assisted dying law got family calling MND sufferer Michael Wenham. Here he shares why such legalisation will increase people’s fear of dying.
An image of a woman wearing formal clothing is overlaid by a BBC logo, a programme logo, a sound wave illustration and a caption.
Today Programme post about Esther Rantzen's comments.
BBC.

"What do you make of Esther Rantzen?" asked my brother. 

I knew what he was talking about, as no doubt all listeners of Radio 4's Today Programme would have done. Clearly the advocates of assisted dying, or specifically suicide, have launched the next round of their campaign, even enlisting the late Diana Rigg, whose resemblance to my wife was once commented on by an old welsh policemen, as a witness. The Today Programme devoted a great deal of airtime to the subject over a number of days.  

My reply to my brother was that I thought it was a good thing if we were more open about the subject of death and dying. After all they are events everyone without exception will come in contact with at some point or another. So, the sooner we stop treating it as a taboo subject the better. However, the dangers of legalising assisted suicide, are proved by places like Canada and Belgium. 

I don’t see any way to protect us from such coercion, internal or external, except to demonstrate through legislation that every life, however tenuous, is equally important.

In January this year I made a submission to the Parliamentary Health and Social Care Committee consultation on assisted dying/assisted suicide. Here’s some of that submission. 

“I am writing as an individual who was diagnosed with a rare form of Motor Neurone Disease (MND) twenty-two years ago and who has experienced the condition’s relentless deterioration since then. There are a number of my contemporaries who have survived that long. That, and witnessing the ravages of the disease on friends in our local MNDA branch plus an Ethics qualification from Oxford, is the extent of my expertise.” 

“My first observation is how positively my contemporaries, with short or longer prognoses, with the disease seize hold of life. Clearly there are some who, like Rob Burrows, devote themselves to fund-raising and creating awareness; while others enjoy the opportunities of life that come their way. What might have seemed a death sentence has proved a challenge to live. 

"Secondly, I have recently discovered myself how expert professional care can enhance what is often portrayed as undignified dependence. Good caring can in fact add to quality of life. The sad thing however is that it is not something which the state will normally provide. Along with terminal palliative care, domestic social care must surely be a spending priority for any government that cares about the well-being of all its citizens. I’m fortunate to live an area of excellent MND provision and good, though not abundant, palliative care. But I understand that this is not equally spread through the country. If it were, I suspect it would reduce the fear of dying which must be a major motivator for assistance to ending one’s life. 

"Ironically, in MND, according to the Association’s information sheet, How will I die?, those fears are greatly exaggerated: 

In reality, most people with MND have a peaceful death. The final stages of MND will usually involve gradual weakening of the breathing muscles and increasing sleepiness. This is usually the cause of death, either because of an infection or because the muscles stop working. 

Specialist palliative care supports quality of life through symptom control. practical help, medication to ease symptoms and emotional support for you and your family. 

When breathing becomes weaker, you may feel breathless and this can be distressing. However, your health care professionals can provide support to reduce anxiety. 

You can also receive medication to ease symptoms throughout the course of the disease, not just in the later stages. If you have any concerns about the way medication will affect you, ask the professionals who are supporting you for guidance. 

Further weakening of the muscles involved in breathing will cause tiredness and increasing sleepiness. Over a period of time, which can be hours, days or weeks, your breathing is likely to become shallower. This usually leads to reduced consciousness, so that death comes peacefully as breathing slowly reduces and eventually stops.

"So, this is a third and subtle danger of legalising assisted dying/suicide. It would increase people’s fear of the inevitable fact of death and dying. I think this can be one factor in explaining why, in jurisdictions which have introduced it, we see it being extended beyond the first strict limits. It is held out as an answer to this fearful fact, death, whereas in fact death and dying should be talked about in realistic terms, as normal, as concisely outlined by Dr Kathryn Mannix. As she says, normally dying isn’t as bad as we think

If the government should be doing anything, the first thing it might well do, is to promote informed education about dying of the sort exemplified by specialists such as Dr Mannix, as well as adequately funding her former specialism of palliative care. It should start with schools’ curricula. After all every child will have encountered death at some stage. 

Finally, the dangers of coercion, in my experience, are not so much external as internal. It’s often rightly observed that prolonged pain is worse for the engaged spectator than for the sufferer. If you care for someone, seeing them struggling is barely tolerable. You may wish to see their struggle over, but underlying that wish is your own desire to be spared more of your own horror show. The person who is ‘suffering’ however has that strong survival instinct, common to all humans, and is more concentrated on living than dying. Having said that, when you are depressed, as might be natural, that instinct gets temporarily eclipsed. Then you need protection from your own dark sky. It is at such times that your other inner demons emerge: your sense of being a burden - to your family, to your friends (if you have any), to the NHS and to the state purse; your fear of losing your savings and of leaving nothing to your loved ones; your fear of pain and of dying (exaggerated by popular mythology), and your sense of suffering, heightened by your depression.  

"For most of us with long incurable diseases, it’s these internal perceptions that are most coercive, although they can be easily compounded or even exploited from outside. I don’t see any way to protect us from such coercion, internal or external, except to demonstrate through legislation that every life, however tenuous, is equally important to our society and worth caring for. ‘Any man’s death diminishes me...’ and so we will value it to the end." 

I'm grateful that when I received my 'motor neurone disorder' diagnosis, which was initially frightening, I couldn't be tempted to opt for an early death. Instead of one Christmas with my family (as I warned them), I've enjoyed 22 more Christmases. That was the law against suicide fulfilling its safeguarding function, protecting the vulnerable, as I was then. Contrary to my preconceptions, my form of MND (PLS) is very gradual and I've been able to live a full if increasingly limited life, thanks to my wife, Jane, who cares for me 100 per cent. 24 hours a day, seven days a week.  

My view is still that legalising assisted dying/suicide has more cons than pros. The better choice is to invest in hospice and palliative care, so that everyone may have access to pain and symptom care in the last years of their life. 

Snippet
Care
Change
Justice
4 min read

Four things I’ve learnt from working with prisoners

Here’s why I care about the incarcerated

Daniel is the regional director, Asia Pacific, for Prison Fellowship International.

Female prisoners hug their children who have climbed across a table to them.
Prisoners hug their children during a visit.
PFI.org.

It was my mother who first sparked my curiosity about engaging with prisoners. As a volunteer prison counsellor, she held bi-weekly meetings with incarcerated individuals, listening to their stories, struggles, and moments of hope. Over family dinners, she would share the situations these people found themselves in and how counseling was breaking through the emotional walls they had built around themselves. 

However, for most of my life, such a prison ministry was never something I considered pursuing – certainly not as my career. I’m a Christian and a verse from the Bible had guided me through life: 

“For I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink…I was in prison, and you came to visit me.”  

The last part of that verse was the one I had often skipped over. 

Four years ago, this verse resurfaced in my life and this time, it wouldn’t let go. I was convicted of how I, and much of society, including the church, have often overlooked this desperate need within our communities.  

That conviction led me to work at Prison Fellowship International (PFI). I work alongside others who believe in redemption and grace for those the world has forgotten.  

PFI is a movement of more than 120 partner prison ministries worldwide working to restore the lives of those impacted by crime. It does that by sharing the Christian Gospel and God’s love with prisoners and protecting their children from increased risks of trafficking, child labor or following in their parent’s footsteps.  

As I’ve walked this road, I’ve realized why caring about prisoners matters. It’s not just a good deed, but a vital part of caring for the least and forgotten in our society. Here are four truths that have shaped my thinking. 

Compassion looks past the crime to the person 

In a world that often defines people by their worst mistakes, compassion calls us to look deeper. Many individuals behind bars have been shaped by lives of poverty, trauma and injustice who made poor decisions. In places like Sri Lanka and Nepal, I’ve encountered people imprisoned for stealing food to provide for their families living in desperate poverty. These stories reveal a wider context of inequality, where systemic injustices and lack of access to healthcare, education, or employment drive people towards choices they might not otherwise make.  

While I do not excuse nor diminish the harm caused by crime, we must hold space for both justice and mercy. We must choose to see beyond someone's crime and into their heart to recognize their humanity and believe in the possibility of restoration – for them as an individual, for the victim and for our communities as a whole.  

Families are the silent, forgotten victims 

When someone goes to prison, it’s not only the individual who suffers; their families, especially children, often quietly bear the weight of that loss. I recently met 11-year-old Su Lin in Cambodia. Her dad is imprisoned, and her mother left the family in the care of their grandmother. When the burden of caring for them became too great, Su Lin’s brothers were put up for adoption. She doesn’t know if or when she’ll see her father again or whether her mum will ever return. 

Her story is heartbreaking, but just one of millions. Around the world, children of prisoners are shunned by their community for crimes they did not commit and left isolated in cycles of poverty, trauma and often, generational crime.  

Daily, I have the privilege of working with PFI’s network to support children like Su Lin, but so many more slip through the cracks. When we forget prisoners, we also abandon their families, the silent victims who deserve care, hope, dignity, and a chance at a brighter future. 

True justice restores, not just punishes 

I’ve seen first-hand how forgiveness, accountability, and a path to restoration can heal not just prisoners, but entire communities. In the Solomon Islands, a culture deeply rooted in a strong, connected community, this type of redemption is being lived out.  

There, before prisoners are eligible for parole, they are invited to participate in Sycamore Tree Project, a PFI program that aims to foster healing and reconciliation through restorative efforts. When all parties are ready, local religious leaders facilitate a reconciliation meeting between the offender and victim, often joined by their families and community leaders. These difficult yet grace-filled conversations lead to healing, accountability, and forgiveness. 

Our findings have been powerful: reoffending rates in these communities have dropped dramatically. This is what radical reconciliation looks like – messy and challenging, but life-changing. 

Faith calls us to love the forgotten

At the heart of faith is a call to love those whom the world has cast aside, including those behind bars, so often labelled unworthy and left behind. With many correctional systems still prioritizing punitive justice, I believe we are called to deeply reckon with how we can advocate for grace in a society focused on punishment. 

Prisoners are not beyond hope. Their families are not invisible. Their futures are not sealed. Together, we can bring light into the darkest places in our communities and societies. In doing so, we discover the depth of true, lasting justice and mercy.    

Support Seen & Unseen

Since Spring 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,000 articles. All for free. 
This is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?
 
Do so by joining Behind The Seen. Alongside other benefits, you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing my reading and reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin
Editor-in-Chief