The Illusion of Freedom: How Assisted Dying Frames Choice and Despair

Why choice in dying reveals deeper failures in hope, care, and compassion

The Assisted Dying bill has passed its second reading. For some, this is a moment of profound joy—Esther Rantzen, for instance, was "thrilled"—but for others, it is nothing less than heartbreaking. It is worth reflecting on the irony here: the same Esther Rantzen who once feared death during the “COVID pandemic” so deeply that she proposed the unvaccinated should be placed at the back of the queue for medical care is now "thrilled" that people are being given the very choice to die, that she feared so much during that time. There is a deep and unsettling dissonance in this—a cultural embrace of death framed as choice, even when it comes at the cost of reimagining what it means to live.

This bill—this proposed law—is, to put it plainly, a mess. And more troublingly, it is dangerous. The co-sponsors of this legislation have recently begun to acknowledge the flaws in the Leadbeater framework, but don’t let their public reassessments fool you. Their examination of the problems isn’t a sudden change of heart but rather a preparatory step—perhaps intended to alter the language of the bill and weaken the already fragile safeguards built into it.

Jake Richards, one of the co-sponsors, has made clear that the bill, as currently written, falls short of meeting its own stated goals. Yet what he proposes isn’t the strengthening of those safeguards; on the contrary, he expresses a disturbing willingness to sideline judicial oversight altogether. Sian Berry has also joined this effort, advocating for a "more expansive" interpretation of the bill, as reported by Unherd. Together, their intentions signal a shift toward not just legal change but a profound philosophical one: undermining the very structures meant to ensure that the choice to live remains free and uncoerced, and that people can access support and help to assist them to live meaningful and contributory lives.

Leadbeater herself, along with other MP’s, (discussed in this article), suggested that the only coercion we should worry about is the act of talking someone out of assisted dying. Yes, you read that correctly. Encouraging someone to reconsider a choice toward state-sanctioned death—framed as a release from family burdens, suffering, or despair—has become, in her view, a form of coercion. Yet, curiously, the law that allows state-sanctioned death does not register as coercive in her framing. This perspective creates a chilling inversion of moral reasoning: the very law designed to permit death becomes detached from the coercion it can enable and justify. A natural question thus arises: will we soon criminalise the very act of trying to dissuade someone from death, as though offering hope were itself a form of force?

It is no small thing that just 16 MPs attended a debate about disability rights mere days after a packed chamber was summoned to debate state-sanctioned assisted dying. The contrast is stark, and it reveals something deeply broken in the priorities of our systems—a reflection of how vulnerable populations are routinely abandoned in favour of new legislative frameworks that frame death as an "option", instead of addressing the suffering at its roots.

There is a book, The Department, that exposes the stark consequences of these systemic failures. It details how the DWP and its policies have led to the untimely deaths of thousands of disabled individuals over the course of decades. It is not an isolated story but part of a pattern: the systematic underfunding of palliative care, the de-prioritisation of welfare and social support for those that truly need it, and the labyrinth of bureaucracy that traps those most in need in hoops of endless paperwork and conditional evaluations. The system that should care for the vulnerable instead treats them as burdens, demanding the kind of proof and submissions that can strip dignity from even the most desperate.

I know this first-hand. A friend of mine—a military veteran, medically discharged, struggling with life-altering physical challenges—has experienced this. When she finally admitted her inability to cope and sought assistance, she was met not with compassion but with suspicion, bureaucracy, and the kind of judgment that would reduce a genuine plea for help into a potential fraud investigation. The indignity of this experience makes me angry. It makes me sad. And it should make us all pause.

This is the heart of the matter: the erosion of services, the underfunding of compassionate care, and the bureaucratic indifference that has become normalised in the name of fiscal austerity and administrative efficiency. We must grapple with these realities, with the way they force the vulnerable toward despair and headlong into the false promise of assisted dying being an option, rather than addressing the root causes of their suffering.

I pray that the MPs and members of the public who supported this bill take a moment to truly reflect, to wake up to the slippery slope we are on. This bill has not yet become law, and it can still be defeated at its third reading. Yet history offers little hope: no bill has been overturned at this stage since the Local Authority Works (Scotland) bill in 1977. Still, miracles can happen. If those in power would truly take stock of the implications of this choice, perhaps they would experience the kind of change of heart that could shift the tide.

Let me leave you with this quote—often attributed to Gandhi - though its origin remains debated, it is no less powerful: "The true measure of any society can be found in how it treats its most vulnerable members." It is asking us not to turn this moment into a statement of indifference, allowing the most vulnerable among us to find themselves stripped of hope and choice by law, by bureaucracy, and by the systems that claim to care for them.

For the “assisted dying bill” we must choose otherwise. We must choose wisely. And we must ask, “why is there so much focus on “assisted dying” and not assisted living”?