Meeting of the Parliament 17 March 2026 [Draft]
I start by sharing my respect for Liam McArthur; I find him to be a good parliamentarian and a good man. However, I must also say that it remains a fact that consent, choice, free will and autonomy are not being experienced equally by all. My fear remains that, for the estimated one in three women who are living with domestic abuse, the bill, even with the modest amendments that have been made around coercion, could become another lethal tool to be wielded by an abusive partner. The danger is real. The deadly consequences for those women would be final.
I normally relish debate, even when it looks like I am going to lose, but today I feel really uncomfortable. This legislation frightens me, and I am not someone who scares easily. I did not get into politics to talk about myself and my own feelings; this is certainly not a natural space for me to be in, arguing against something that I am fearful of rather than for something that I believe will bring about a positive change or protect people.
In what will be my last speech in the Parliament, I am a little sad that my final contribution shares fear and not hope, but I am scared that, if the bill passes because of the perceived positive impact on the small number of people who wish to end their lives early, the negative and equally impactful experiences for many others and for our society as a whole will be immeasurable, and they will not be something that we can come back from.
As well as the casework that I receive from citizens who are not currently having their needs met by the health and social care services, I have direct experience of living with a diagnosis that will not be cured. My life will be shortened—I do not like saying that out loud, especially in front of you lot, but it is a fact.
I find it really hard to put into words the impact that the language of dignity and compassion being used to talk about ending life has had on me, as if, somehow, wishing to carry on but with help is undignified and burdensome and unfair to people who love me—and that is just in the context of us talking about it in Parliament. My blood runs cold thinking about sitting in a room in a hospital and having a doctor raise that with me as we weigh up treatment options.
I share that thought in the full knowledge that people in my situation are not a homogeneous group and because I want colleagues to consider, if it weighs so heavily on me, as someone in a position of financial privilege with a large, loving family who are able to care for each other—indeed, as someone whose job it has been for 10 years to have difficult conversations and debates and to have my views and beliefs challenged—how this all plays out for people who do not have the privilege that we have.
In considering that, let us have our eyes open to the strain that our health and social care systems are under. Not everyone is receiving the care that they need. If the bill is passed, it will be funded from existing stretched budgets. What healthcare will we stop to fund this? Are we really going to be a country where the state funds dying while hospice care relies on charity? Consent, choice, free will and autonomy are not experienced equally by all. It is not a free choice if someone does not have access to good palliative care, it is not a free choice if someone has no family to support them and they are lonely and isolated, and it is not a free choice if they are grappling with poverty or other forms of inequality.
If the bill is passed, institutions will not be able to make a choice to opt out, meaning that some valued hospices and care homes will close at a time when we really need them, and doctors will not have a choice to opt out. It is a fact that those protections have been stripped out of the bill. There are no guarantees on what they will look like, and this Parliament will not be able to scrutinise or amend them.
In voting against the bill today, I am just choosing to vote for the inherent dignity of life, and I urge colleagues to do the same.