There are few phenomena that better represent the endpoint of runaway liberal individualism than the ‘MAiD Moment’ Canada is experiencing, which has seen tens of thousands of people euthanised since its introduction in 2016, and which is ripping apart even now the ties that have bound people from time immemorial, such as parent and child, and grandparent and grandchild.
What brings these musings to mind is the plight of Canadian man Benjamin Turland, who shared his story in recent days of losing both of his dearly beloved grandmothers to euthanasia within rapid succession of one another, leaving him bereft and plagued with questions of whether there was anything he could have done to affect his grandmothers’ decisions to kill themselves.
The key line, it seems to me, in his recounting of how euthanasia has affected him and his family was, “The message it [his grandmother’s euthanasia] sends to me is like, ‘Did I not love you enough? Did I not love you the correct way? Did I not make you feel like you’re not a burden?’”
“I’m wondering, what could I have said? What could I have done, to make you feel like a day, two days, three days, is worth it, even if you can’t talk, like, even if your eyes are closed? Even if I just get to hold your hand, kiss your forehead, stroke your hair, be in your presence, remember your life, remember our memories with you in the room. I think it’s worth it,” he said a moment later in response to a question about what message his grandmother’s decision sent him.
The conclusion to draw from this, and one that Benjamin himself identifies in the interview and now has to live with, is that euthanasia is not a victimless decision. It is, to borrow his words once again, something that “impacts multiple generations”.
It’s not a novel insight – opponents of euthanasia have long spoken about the traumatic effect a person’s decision to kill themself, even in a state-sanctioned manner, has on that person’s loved ones – but his testimony is an invaluable contribution to the cultural conversation, a fact evidenced by the blowback it’s received.
Each of the comments under the video on YouTube, and much of the commentary I’ve seen on social media about it, targets Benjamin for criticising his grandmothers’ choice, describing his reaction to it as “selfish” and immature, insufficiently appreciative of the fear and pain someone is experiencing before opting to be euthanised.
It speaks volumes about the cultural change that’s taken place in Canada since MAiD was legislated for not even 10 years ago, and is also indicative of why, according to campaigners, it’s so difficult to get family members to speak out about the trauma they’ve experienced as a result of their deceased relatives’ “choice”. To do so, the modern story goes, is to either not care, or not be mature enough to care, about the suffering MAiD recipient’s experience prior to their death.
It is, many crudely say, a response of me, me, me, when in considering those who die of euthanasia, even grieving family members ought to take an attitude of them, them, them and their holy, sacrosanct autonomy.
The difficulty with that line of thought, though, and which contrary to critique and slander, the traumatised family members get exactly right, is that, try as we might, we are not, and cannot be, islands. Whether one feels, consciously or unconsciously, like a burden (a common reason people seek euthanasia), or whether that consideration doesn’t even factor in and one simply feels fed up with the pain and suffering their existence entails, our lives and our choices affect other people, whether one would wish them to or not.
Family members like Benjamin cannot but be hurt by a loved one’s decision to end their life before their time because what that says to them is something along the lines of: in light of this suffering, nothing in this world is good enough to keep me in it, not even my loved ones.
Don’t get me wrong, I understand why ailing Canadians opt for MAiD. I do. Life does have a way of making people feel like a burden. I have experienced this on a couple of occasions on my way to the ripe old age of 29-years-old, so I can’t imagine what it’s like once you are at an advanced age and of little material help – that increasingly being all modern societies really care about – to your family, friends and society more generally, or once you find yourself otherwise incapacitated by a debilitating illness or condition.
This is to be coupled with the fact that, for many people, the cumulative effects of ageing and/or illness add up to a big, old negative human experience. Gone are the carefree days of a healthy youth (if ever you were so lucky), in is a trouble-filled horizon, for you and quite possibly for those who care about you, that takes on the appearance of a relentless, downward slope.
Nevertheless, if love has any meaning beyond that which progressive reformers have tried to assign it – mere affirmation – it must mean that we have an obligation to “bear one another’s burdens”. That doesn’t mean liking or endorsing difficult situations, or the plight of loved ones, but it does mean accepting that such things are a fact of life and of human relationships.
Contrary to Hollywood movies, love is not always enjoyable. Sometimes it entails the greatest suffering it’s possible to endure in life, such as when a child or spouse is grievously ill and there’s nothing you can do about it. But the alternative is the autonomous hellscape Canada is plunging headlong into, in which the closest family ties are severed in the name of choice, and in which the opportunity to demonstrate our love for one another by bearing those burdens is eliminated.
But maybe that definition of love is already fading out of fashion. In the UK, champion of the so-called ‘right to die’ Kim Leadbeater MP has suggested that trying to talk someone out of ending their life constitutes coercion.
The times are a-changing alright. Our brave new world would have you stand by with a supportive smile on your face while your loved one – mother, father, grandparent, sibling, whoever it may be – is killed, before tutting you into silence if you express the slightest hesitation about it, as poor Benjamin Turland has found.
Which is precisely why his story is so important.