Saturday, St Andrews Day, was the 150th anniversary of the birth of Winston Churchill. I didn’t hear much about it. Maybe the British Empire has fallen into such a state of disrepute that people would rather brush it all under the carpet. But surely they can’t cancel Winston. Anybody who can write as sublimely as he could, can’t be all bad.
Towards the end of his life, increasingly frail and decrepit, he once said, “I have done my work. I should be allowed to depart.” I always thought of this as a plea to Mother Nature, or indeed the Almighty, to let him go, but in view of Friday’s debate in Westminster, perhaps Winston was still thinking legislatively. For on Friday, the Assisted Dying Bill survived its first reading (or was it the second?) in the House of Commons. Irrespective of one’s point of view, the tenor of the debate seems to have gone down well with the general public. “Ya-Boo” politics were put to one side. People on both sides of the debate were listened to in silence, and with respect. The debate was expansive; many members spoke movingly. In the end, when the “ayes” had it by a margin that was substantial if not overwhelming, there were no partisan cheers; rather respectful silence. This, said the parliamentary reporters, was Westminster at its best.
That seems to me to say more about the normal state of affairs in Westminster, than about this particular debate. It should surely be de rigueur, that participants in any debate should listen to one another respectfully, and in silence, not only out of courtesy, but out of genuine curiosity, and on the off-chance that they may hear an argument they have not considered, which might persuade them to change their minds. Friday’s debate was unusual in that it ended with a “conscience vote”. Nobody was under the whip. The members could vote according to the dictates of their own conscience.
But wait a minute. Shouldn’t every vote be a “conscience vote”? Is there any matter that comes up before parliament that is not a matter of conscience? Whatever the issue might be, be it about the economy, health, education, defence, is there any issue that would justify an MP voting against that which they thought was right? Why would an MP wish to vote for something they didn’t believe in? Party discipline, I suppose. Esprit de corps. The whips, or shadow whips, tell the members, on one side of the house or the other, how to vote.
Much of Friday’s debate centred on the vexed issue of coercion. Relatives of a terminally ill patient might apply pressure on the patient to request assisted dying. This could be a blatant attempt to acquire the patient’s assets. Most likely the coercion would be subtle, a hint, a gentle reminder that the patient had become a burden. Champions of the bill insist that safeguards are in place. Two doctors and a judge will ensure that coercion does not take place. But what if it is the doctor who exhibits coercive behaviour? There is the possibility that the assisted dying option would be proposed to patients by GPs. A patient is given a fatal diagnosis with prognosis of life expectancy less than six months. What are my options, doc? Apparently the GP is free to discuss available therapies, or indeed absence of therapy, but will be prohibited from raising the assisted dying option, unless the patient first raises it. Some GPs are not very happy about that. Why should they be muzzled, gagged, in what they may or may not be permitted to discuss?
I think there is something profoundly ironic in the notion that Members of Parliament should pontificate on the subject of coercion. I can hardly think of a more coerced group in our society. You will vote according to the three line whip, or if you don’t, you will lose the whip, not to mention the ministerial stipend, and the ministerial car. Perhaps there will be added coercion from one’s spouse. How are we going to afford the children’s school fees? Those parliamentarians who told us on Friday that rigorous safeguards will be in place don’t seem to be aware that they themselves are the victims of coercion. But that is the subtle thing about coercion. It is invisible. Coercive behaviour (Latin coercere: to shut in) is at its most effective, and harmful, when the victims are not aware that they are trapped. It’s the obverse of the coin of Richard Lovelace’s “Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage.” I’ve just finished reading Alexei Navalny’s extraordinary memoir, Patriot (The Bodley Head, 2024). Having survived an assassination attempt, and having received treatment in Germany, he returned to Russia fully aware of the possibility, indeed probability, that he would be sent to jail. He endured the harshest conditions, helped by memorising Christ’s Sermon on the Mount. Incarcerated, he remained to the end in some profound sense free, because he refused to be coerced.
Anyway, with the start of the new week, no doubt the ya-boo politics will return. Personally I can’t stand it. When John Prescott, erstwhile Deputy Prime Minister died last week, I heard an anecdote about what he had to put up with in the House of Commons. He had a working class background and had been, before politics, a ship’s steward. When he entered the chamber, the posh toffs on the other benches would taunt him: “Another gin and tonic, Manuel!”
Says it all, really.
jamescalumcampbell 