In many other countries, Britain’s shiny layer of gloss or deceptive image of the “prim, proper and demure” or soft and gentle is accepted as WYSIWYG. But Britain is not WYSISYG. The great Brexit entertainment show surely has made many people abroad cotton on by now. This is Britain as usual, well, most of the time.
Want another example?
People who do not have the British nationality can be grabbed anywhere and at any time, to be locked up indefinitely, for no good reason at all, often making them lose their jobs and homes, even those who’ve been here for fifty years or longer, and sometimes leaving them without documentation/passports (if the Home Office keeps it).
People – Brits – are locked up because they protested peacefully, against fracking or against deportation. And for many years it has already been the case that if Britons show up at a demonstration anywhere, their mere presence can get them into a police file and often tracked and hassled wherever they go in Britain after that. (There’ve been court cases related to the latter. That’s how I know.)
Here is a film about that part of Britain.
You can see what a farce this is because if they really had been considered terrorists, they would have been held on remand, not been left free to roam the country.
They wouldn’t have been allowed to leave the court after the verdict either.
This is about nipping protest in the bud, just like the food bank organizations and the BBC have gotten whistled back to heel so often.
For me, it is heart-warming and so encouraging to see that people like the Stansted 15 exist in Britain.
You see how gutted they are after the verdict. That, that alone, was the aim of this farce. To whip the souls of British citizens back into obedience to the state.
A powerful new film about the trial of the #Stansted15, featuring interviews with the defendants, their lawyers, and powerful testimony from people who were due to have been on the plane that night.https://t.co/eTDJpnuHdq
The issue of surrogacy needs to be resolved globally, and as soon as possible, as many others have been saying for a long time. Some surrogacies go fine, but many don’t – and the victims are often the babies, for example when they can’t travel from the countries in which they were born or when people who bought a pregnancy change their mind.
As Dr Diehl (Kelly’s doctor) explains in the documentary, physicians are currently left in limbo. They are faced with making decisions for which there is (often) no legal framework yet (depending on state/country), which can expose them to lawsuits. An example he gives is the situation that a surrogate does not want vaccinations, while the person who bought the pregnancy does.
If it were up to me, surrogacy would be banned altogether. Babies are not products. (Nobody knows what happened to the two boys Kelly produced during her third and final surrogacy.)
Thankfully, with the soon expected advent of artificial uteruses – incubation pods for embryos (yes, we will have something like this; there is no doubt in my mind about this and they’ve already been used successfully for sheep – the problem will disappear, at least as far as the surrogates are concerned and to some degree also as far as the babies are concerned.
I am reminded of Michael Sandel’s words about the effects of various practices on inclusive solidarity. What’s technologically possible is not by definition mandatory. It is not at all a matter of choosing between nature or science and technology, as some suggest.
I believe that truly altruistic cases or surrogacy will not be stopped by bans but it would curb the predominantly negative instances and effects of gestational surrogacy. In my own family, there is a case of one family giving one or their babies to another couple that could not conceive. It concerned two siblings and their spouses and happened many decades ago.
1/ Today is the 7th anniversary of one of the most important and notorious UK human rights cases ever. I think we need to keep talking about it, even if it’s uncomfortable for advocates of the human rights system. Here’s why.
Imagine for a moment you are wrongfully convicted of a crime. You get sent to prison, where you start to serve out your sentence – every minute of every day knowing you are innocent. Then the unthinkable happens and you are released. You are elated – this is the moment you’ve been waiting for.
But those feelings of elation and happiness quickly turn to fear and despair as you realise you have nowhere to go. Your old life as you knew it is gone, you have no way of supporting yourself, your relationships have broken down and you have nowhere to turn to for support.
Sadly, this is the reality many exonerees face when they are trying to put their lives back together. Many of these people – who have in some cases spent years behind bars – find upon release that their problems are only exacerbated. Wrongfully wrenched from their families, homes and communities, they struggle to reintegrate into society when they return.
“Rightfully convicted” individuals are provided with a plan for release from prison – often starting months in advance. This involves a range of activities, all of which are aimed at helping the person to resettle back into the community. But exonerees have none of these preparations – and often receive very little notice of their release.
Victor Nealon, for example, served 16 years in prison after he was falsely charged with rape. He received three hours’ notice of his release, and ended up in a bed and breakfast on his first night as a free man – he had nowhere else to go.
An unfamiliar world
The wrongfully convicted don’t receive any preparation for their release because of the way the prison system works. Prisoners have to show they are “tackling their offending behaviour” to gain parole. But if you haven’t committed the crime in the first place, this is not possible. The end result is that a person may spend longer in prison than if they had committed the offence and admitted it.
Upon release, the wrongfully convicted are thrust into a world they are unfamiliar with – and they have zero support or guidance. It’s common for exonerees to develop PTSD as a result of their wrongful conviction, alongside other mental and physical health problems requiring significant support.
This in part happens because as soon as the conviction is quashed, these people are no one’s responsibility. They are no longer a prisoner, or an ex-offender. There is no standard programme of support which is triggered at the point of release. And while probation would be well placed to support the wrongfully convicted, they cannot as they are not ex-offenders – ex-prisoners, yes, but not ex-offenders.
Say I’m innocent
There are only two specific organisations that provide support to exonerees. They are the Citizens Advice Bureau (CAB) based at the Royal Courts of Justice, and the Miscarriages of Justice Organisation (MOJO). This was founded by Paddy Hill – one of the six men wrongly convicted of the 1974 Birmingham pub bombings. He set it up in an attempt to provide the support to others that he was not given when released in 1991.
But both services are restricted by funding and staffing limitations, and while both organisations do superb work against a backdrop of austerity measures and extremely limited resources, both are at best a piecemeal response to what is, in reality, a government responsibility.
A recent BBC documentary called Fallout highlights these issues. The the director of the documentary Mark Mcloughlin has launched the “Say I’m Innocent” campaign, and is now fighting for all the services that are available to guilty prisoners on release to be made available to exonerees. The campaign is also calling for a public announcement of a person’s innocence upon their release. As well as other measure including a transition centre in both the UK and Ireland to allow them time and help to reintegrate into society.
This is important because the key issue here is responsibility. The state assumed responsibility for these individuals when they were wrongfully convicted. It is therefore only right that the state continues to take responsibility for them once exonerated.
The High Court has rejected a judicial review challenging the current law which prohibits assisted dying in the UK. Noel Conway, a 67-year-old retired lecturer who was diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease in 2014, was fighting for the right to have medical assistance to bring about his death. Commenting after the judgement on October 5, his solicitor indicated that permission will now be sought to take the case to the appeal courts.
Campaigners are often quick to highlight the strength of public support in favour of assisted dying, arguing that the current law is undemocratic. But there are reasons to question the results of polls on this sensitive and emotional issue.
There have been numerous surveys and opinion polls on public attitudes towards assisted dying in recent years. The British Social Attitudes (BSA) Survey, which has asked this question sequentially since the 1980s, has shown slowly increasing public support. Asked: “Suppose a person has a painful incurable disease. Do you think that doctors should be allowed by law to end the patient’s life, if the patient requests it?” in 1984, 75% of people surveyed agreed. By 1989, 79% of people agreed with the statement, and in 1994 it had gone up to 82%.
Detail of the question matters
But not surprisingly, the acceptability of assisted dying varies according to the precise context. The 2005 BSA survey asked in more depth about attitudes towards assisted dying and end of life care. While 80% of respondents agreed with the original question, support fell to 45% for assisted dying for illnesses that were incurable and painful but not terminal.
A 2010 ComRes-BBC survey also found that the incurable nature of illness was critical. In this survey, while 74% of respondents supported assisted suicide if an illness was terminal, this fell to 45% if it was not.
It may not be surprising that support varies considerably according to the nature of the condition described, but it is important. First, because the neat tick boxes on polls belie the messy reality of determining prognosis for an individual patient. Second, because of the potential for drift in who might be eligible once assisted dying is legalised. This has happened in countries such as Belgium which became the first country to authorise euthanasia for children in 2014, and more recently in Canada where within months of the 2016 legalisation of medical assistance in dying, the possibility of extending the law to those with purely psychological suffering was announced.
It’s not just diagnosis or even prognosis that influences opinion. In the US, Gallup surveys carried out since the 1990s have shown that support for assisted dying hinges on the precise terminology used to describe it. In its 2013 poll, 70% of respondents supported “end the patient’s life by some painless means” whereas only 51% supported “assisting the patient to commit suicide”. This gap shrank considerably in 2015 – possibly as a result of the Brittany Maynard case. Maynard, a high-profile advocate of assisted dying who had terminal cancer, moved from California to Oregon to take advantage of the Oregon Death with Dignity law in 2014.
Even so, campaigning organisations for assisted dying tend to avoid the word “suicide”. Language is emotive, but if we want to truly gauge public opinion, we need to understand this issue, not gloss over it.
Information changes minds
Support for assisted dying is crucially known to drop-off simply when key information is provided. Back in the UK, a ComRes/CARE poll in 2014 showed 73% of people surveyed agreed with legalisation of a bill which enables: “Mentally competent adults in the UK who are terminally ill, and who have declared a clear and settled intention to end their own life, to be provided with assistance to commit suicide by self-administering lethal drugs.” But 42% of these same people subsequently changed their mind when some of the empirical arguments against assisted dying were highlighted to them – such as the risk of people feeling pressured to end their lives so as not to be a burden on loved ones.
This is not just a theoretical phenomenon. In 2012, a question over legalising assisted dying was put on the ballot paper in Massachusetts, one of the most liberal US states. Support for legalisation fell in the weeks prior to vote, as arguments against legalisation were aired, and complexities became apparent. In the end, the Massachusetts proposition was defeated by 51% to 49%. Public opinion polls, in the absence of public debate, may gather responses that are reflexive rather than informed.
Polls are powerful tools for democratic change. While opinion polls do show the majority of people support legalisation of assisted dying, the same polls also show that the issue is far from clear. It is murky, and depends on the responder’s awareness of the complexities of assisted dying, the context of the question asked, and its precise language. If we can conclude anything from these polls, it is not the proportion of people who do or don’t support legislation, but how easily people can change their views.
When I first qualified as a doctor more than ten years ago, it was simple – my duty was to provide the best possible care to the patient in front of me. Evidence and clinical experience were my guides. Unlike in a commercialised health system, such as the US or India, I was not torn between doing the right thing and demands from a profit-making paymaster, or concerns over whether my patient could afford the care.
Identity checks at the front door and upfront charging have changed all that. They compromise my duty to “show respect for human life” by prioritising British lives over all others, regardless of the wider implications.
According to the NHS constitution, healthcare should be “available to all irrespective of gender, race, disability, age, sexual orientation, religion, belief, gender reassignment, pregnancy and maternity or marital or civil partnership status”. It is a service that provides care “based on need, not an individual’s ability to pay”. It is these first two fundamental principles that I, along with many other NHS staff, am so proud of.
For the first time since its inception, Jeremy Hunt has said “we should all expect to be asked questions that confirm our eligibility for free healthcare”. This statement came as part of the Migrant and Visitor Cost Recovery Programme, first rolled out in 2014. It sets in place a series of policies that restrict access to healthcare for those not born in the UK. The NHS cannot be available to all, as the constitution states. A line must be drawn somewhere, and that line is the UK border.
An immigration health surcharge has been one of the least controversial measures introduced, attached to the visa application process for long-term non-European Economic Area migrants and students.
However, the second part of the cost recovery programme has been to incentivise NHS trusts to identify ineligible patients and charge them 50% more than the actual cost of their care. Critics argue that the cost of managing this scheme does not justify the 0.3% dent in the annual NHS budget attributable to health tourism. Furthermore, there have been reports of patients wrongfully billed. This would be stressful in itself, but more concerning are the reports of racial profiling that has been used to aid the identification of chargeable patients. With the introduction of charges upfront in an NHS that is already running on empty, snap decisions on who will actually be asked to provide identification are likely to be based on identifiers of difference, such as skin colour or accent.
To add to this hostile environment for migrants, in February this year the assumption of confidentiality – a sacred cornerstone of medical practice and a foundation of the trust that is so vital to the doctor-patient relationship – was placed on shaky ground with an agreement that patient details could be passed on to the Home Office. This memorandum of understanding, along with a hotline which charged the NHS 80 pence per minute (just to add insult to injury), is aimed at identifying people for deportation.
A public health risk
Despite the Department of Health’s claim that evidence is lacking, there is a significant body of knowledge that demonstrates that charging and data-sharing deter people from seeking help when they are unwell. These barriers to obtaining health – which, by the way, the UK government has signed up to protect as part of the EU convention on human rights – extend way beyond those who, in the eyes of the law, are ineligible for care. From a public health perspective, delaying diagnosis and treatment of infectious diseases increases the risk of spread to the wider community. Bacteria, I assure you, pay no heed to arbitrary notions of birth rights and citizenship.
From an economic perspective, prevention is better than cure. Those deterred from accessing healthcare by these policies are the least able to pay. By the time their treatment is life-threatening, you can be sure that, had we treated them sooner, the outcome would be better and cheaper for all. It will be those who look different, sound different, or dress differently from an “average British citizen” (in the head of the person in front of them) who will be caught in the wider net of eligibility checks.
These policies do not protect human rights. They are not in line with my General Medical Council duties as a doctor or with NHS principles. They are not economically sound. They will not protect the health of the public. These policies feed a narrative that the NHS crisis has been caused by migrants – not the rich people who broke the banks and heralded in a period of austerity. We must look up and hold those people in power to account and look around at our fellow human beings with compassion and kindness.
I ran into a discussion on Kialo, to which I quickly contributed the first paragraph below and penned what I have added below, all within about five minutes. I later edited it a bit, to make it easier to read.
I am so pleased someone started this discussion. I promote non-discrimination of embryos and fetuses. A child is not a consumer product but a human being who must be loved and encouraged to flourish. How can you love one child but not another if the latter is non-mainstream? I’ve been thinking about that and it’s made me wonder if it actually means that the parents aren’t fit to be parents. I haven’t dared say that out loud yet, but this discussion clears the road for me.
So yes, maybe parents-to-be should require vetting.
Within a few decades, we will no longer require sex to create babies, but will make our offspring in the lab, possibly on the basis of skin cells from each of the parents. We’ll probably look after our little gestating (incubating) children as if they are rare orchids that we want to bring to bloom.
(So by that time, women will no longer have a need for abortions and they won’t have to menstruate and experience PMS any longer either.)
I can imagine very well that you will require a license in the future in order to have a child. Somehow, that feels like an automatic consequence of the possibilities we will have then.
And also, indeed, why should adoptive parents be scrutinized but are natural parents free to do whatever they want?
And after all, in that distant future, anyone who wants can probably have a child (technically speaking). Even adoption may slowly become a thing of the past, that is, if we get to the point that we no longer succumb to illnesses and accidents and maybe even can choose when our lives end.
I hasten to add that at the moment, natural parents are not always free to do as they please either, of course. For example, in countries with a great deal of inequality, the state may step in on the basis of what is no more than prejudice in practice.
Nowadays, some children suffer horribly, either because of their parents or because of someone else. Sometimes before children are removed from their parents and sometimes afterward.
In practice, perhaps it won’t be an actual license but a training program that must be completed with good results. If that training is tough and long enough, that alone will already sort committed parents from parents who aren’t ready for a child.
Would they have to get a license or go through some kind of training program every time they want to have a child? Yes, I think so. Insights change.
It’s even possible that parenting will eventually become a profession.
Unfortunately, Kialo may not work very well with Linux. I was able to post my contribution, but seem unable to comment on other people’s contributions. Maybe it’s part of the learning curve, but I did see the intro video and the comment option mentioned in it simply does not seem to exist for me.
R (Kiarie) v Secretary of State for the Home Department; R (Byndloss) v Secretary of State for the Home Department  UKSC 42 In a nutshell The Government’s flagship scheme to deport foreign criminals first and hear their appeals later was ruled by the Supreme Court to be incompatible with the appellants’ right to respect for […]
It has just been the 6th anniversary of an important human rights case, that of Mark and Steven Neary. Steven, who is autistic, was detained in local authority care for over a year before his dad used the Human Rights Act to get him home. RightsInfo has made a powerful short film to mark the […]
Sinterklaas! Tomorrow! And today is pakjesavond, for those who don’t have the southeastern Dutch tradition that I grew up with. I never knew pakjesavond. As a child, I would come downstairs to breakfast on 6 December and find the table covered with gifts and goodies, and the chairs too.
Unless you’ve been living on Mars, you likely are aware of the hot debate surrounding the Netherlands’ Black Petes.
(Thank you, Independent, for the quotation marks around ‘racist’ in that headline.)