One of the main arguments against the introduction of legislation to allow assisted dying is that it will be a “slippery slope” to a much broader culture of euthanasia. Those fears aren’t limited to those with religious or moral objections to the notion of physician-assisted suicide for the terminally ill. The College of Psychiatrists in Ireland last December warned against introducing such legislation, citing exactly that risk among its objections. “While often introduced for patients with terminal illnesses,” it said, “once introduced, assisted dying is likely to be applied more broadly to other groups, such that the numbers undertaking the procedure grow considerably above expectations.”
Nevertheless, there appears to be general public support for assisted dying. A Behaviour & Attitudes poll last October found that two thirds of those surveyed were in favour of legislation, much the same majority as preceded the introduction of same-sex marriage and the repeal of the abortion ban. While there was no realistic “slippery slope” argument against marriage equality, the abortion debate does offer a workable precedent for those who feel conflicted about assisted suicide. Is the slippery slope a realistic fear? Can proponents of such a fundamental legal departure be trusted when they say they’ll respect the terms and conditions upon which the public approved the change?
It wasn’t just the more conservative voters who feared that the relatively restrictive abortion provision offered to the electorate prior to the referendum in May 2018 would be liberalised and expanded once the constitutional ban had been removed. But middle-ground voters were reassured by solid undertakings that the 12-week limit for abortion on demand would be enshrined in legislation, and respected. Leo Varadkar, then the taoiseach, made that very promise after a cabinet meeting in January 2018 approved the holding of a referendum: “After 12 weeks’ gestation, abortion will only be allowed in exceptional circumstances, such as a serious risk to the life or health of the woman, or in the event of a fatal foetal abnormality.”
No mention there of the small print that eventually appeared in the legislation, which allowed for a review after three years to ensure the law was operating as intended. Varadkar, in that statement, promised abortion would be “safe, legal and rare”, a sentiment quite likely to be echoed in any proposed law on assisted dying. But while abortion is indeed safe and legal, it seems it’s still a bit too rare for some of those groups who campaigned to persuade the public to repeal the eighth amendment in 2018.
After Stephen Donnelly, the health minister, announced the promised review last December, an umbrella group headed by the National Women’s Council of Ireland began campaigning for a significant liberalisation of the law which the public voted to enact just three years ago. An “abortion working group” is demanding the removal of the mandatory three-day cooling-off period between a woman seeking an abortion, within the 12-week limit, and getting the procedure. But it’s hard to see how a requirement to sleep on such a momentous decision, for a few nights, is in any way onerous or oppressive.
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The group wants the 12-week limit scrapped too, allowing abortions much closer to foetal viability. The argument is the current limit is effectively ten weeks, and women don’t always know they’re pregnant in time. But if you’ve reason to suspect you are, and don’t want to be, a pregnancy test costs a couple of euros. Hardly an unreasonable requirement.
Finally the stipulation that, in a case of fatal foetal abnormality, two doctors must certify the baby will die within 28 days of delivery is also being challenged. Since doctors can’t always predict such lifespans with certainty, campaigners say, some women are still “forced” to travel to the UK for abortions. But surely that area of uncertainty is exactly what the legislation was intended to address: the possibility that the baby might indeed outlive expectations.
No doubt there are women who’ve had horrendous experiences, but hard cases make bad law. And bad law, especially when the public have reason to suspect bad faith, will make it all the harder to secure the trust required for good, but difficult, law in future.
•They were halfway through the prawn cocktail, or whatever appetiser they serve at $1,000-a-plate dinners in Washington, when the taoiseach’s conversation with Nancy Pelosi was rudely interrupted. The 81-year-old speaker of the House of Representatives was to present Micheál Martin with an International Leadership award, but then a member of the taoiseach’s security team approached. Was he being called to mediate a breakthrough in Ukraine, perhaps? Alas, no. The taoiseach had had a negative Covid test but then “an abundance of caution”, which even the famously cautious Martin must now rue, led him to take a second Covid test after a member of his delegation succumbed to the virus. The PCR test proved positive and the taoiseach is now facing isolation in Blair House, the same building from whose steps Leo Varadkar announced the first Covid lockdown during his St Patrick’s Day visit in 2020.
At least Varadkar got to meet the US president, even if it was Donald Trump, whereas Martin missed out on last year’s trip because of the pandemic. This may have been his last shot at presenting the shamrock in the Oval Office, as he steps down in December. For an Irish taoiseach meeting an “Irish” president in Washington on St Patrick’s Day, what could have been more apt than the application of Murphy’s law? Still, Martin was admirably philosophical about his misfortune later, telling journalists, “It’s not the end of the world.” Never a truer word. . .
