Damned if I Do (18 page)

Within days, the
Australian Advertising Standards Bureau started receiving complaints.
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Some requested anonymity (which, apparently, is permissible), while other complainants proudly named themselves.
Andrea Callihanna wrote: ‘I find this billboard to be entirely offensive because it is advertising and promoting activity which is illegal and fatal to anyone who acts on it ie SUICIDE'. A Mrs Gresser wrote: ‘Publicly claiming that Australians support euthanasia is an attack on the elderly and ill members of our society …' Again, Exit was forced to spend time defending its message. For once though, the authorities agreed with us, and the complaints were dismissed. Our billboard remained on view through to November that year.

While these examples of censorship are writ large on the public record, others are more discreet.
The sudden cancellation of speaking engagements is a good ­example. One ­memorable instance occurred when I received an ­invitation in March 2009 to participate in a debate at the Oxford Union in the UK. The
Oxford Union prides itself on being the world's most famous debating club, with a long and impressive line-up of past speakers, from former US presidents, to rock stars and royals. The invitation read: ‘Our members would be delighted to welcome the founder of an organisation like Exit International to address our chamber …', in other words, to speak about voluntary euthanasia. I was excited at the prospect.

Five days later, a second email arrived, this time rescinding the offer. It read: ‘I am afraid that we have encountered something of a problem as we have had great difficulty ­getting other speakers to agree to speak alongside Dr Nitschke … it is therefore with sadness that we feel obliged to retract our invitation.' I was left wondering what on earth was going on. Who did they have speaking next to me? The pope?

An Australian Associated Press wire report provided the explanation. Another speaker was to be Dr
Michael Irwin.
Irwin's hostility had been revealed back in 2009, with his public attacks in the British media about my ‘irresponsibility' in holding UK
Exit
workshops. But it didn't really matter who the other speakers were, the result was the same: I was barred from speaking, so my ideas could never be aired. On looking into the issue, I found that I was only the third person in the entire 190-year history of the Oxford Union to have had their invitation withdrawn; the two others speakers were the Holocaust denier
David Irving and
John Tyndall, the far-right founder of the
British National Party. Hardly the best company to be keeping. I was mildly amused when, in mid 2012, a grovelling second invitation arrived from
John Lee, the new President of the Union, asking if they could ‘redeem themselves by hosting you here finally at the Oxford Union'.
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As if to add insult to injury, Mr Lee added: ‘
I have already chatted to our confirmed speakers on the proposition side, Dr Michael Irwin and
Richard Ottaway MP, and they are happy to debate on the same side as you.' Too little, far too late. Whether or not Irwin had reversed his position, I really couldn't be bothered with him or the Oxford Union. I told them I'd think about, and then let it lapse.

Finally, some acts of censorship go far beyond hurt feelings and a bruised ego, and have significant financial ramifications, such as when
PayPal cancelled Exit's long-standing account and froze our funds without warning in mid 2012. Their reason? Contravention of their ‘Acceptable Use Policy'. After a business relationship lasting almost six years, this about-turn came from nowhere, and there was no appeal process. The suspension occurred around the same time that I took part in a particularly hostile debate at the
City Bible Forum in Sydney, and there was considerable criticism of me and Exit in the international
anti-euthanasia blogs and websites. While the PayPal ban was probably a coincidence, experience has long taught me to be wary of the lengths opponents will go to silence what I have to say. Moral-issue politics is a dirty business, with few rules.

I don't expect that the censorship foot will come off our throats any time soon. I'd like to think that, in years to come, Australians will look back at government attempts to censor information on voluntary euthanasia and laugh, in the same way that younger generations now find it hard to believe that books such as
Lolita
by Vladimir Nabokov and the song ‘Davy's Little Dingy' by the delightful American singer
Ruth Wallis were ever banned.
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While there are instances where control of the flow of information is necessary—say, in matters of terrorism and national security—the enthusiasm of governments to censor end-of-life choices knowledge is worrying. The rationale seems to be that if you keep people in the dark about death and dying, they will live longer and happier lives, sitting there smiling, well into their nineties.

Of course, quite the opposite is true. It is when you empower people with knowledge and restore choice that they live longer and happier lives. As difficult as my opponents may find it, knowledge brings comfort. Choice over when to die can be life-affirming. Unfortunately, this is a point that remains lost on most of the politicians of the nation. For this reason, I doubt there will be legislative change on the voluntary euthanasia issue any time soon. The irony is that, if asked, most elderly people will tell you that they don't have time to wait around.

SIXTEEN

Going global

He is one of the international euthanasia movement's rock stars, and despite his supposedly ‘fringe' views, is always invited to the big international euthanasia conferences, and indeed, travels the world literally pitching his poison.

Wesley J. Smith, US anti-euthanasia activist

I
've made more trips overseas as a voluntary ­euthanasia ­campaigner than I can count, usually, but not always, to English-speaking countries. During the time of ROTI,
I underwent a baptism of fire, with an avalanche of speaking engagements coming my way. I found myself doing everything from addressing the Spanish Parliament, to being flown to London to appear as an expert witness in a BBC courtroom hypothetical. I've also undertaken a number of clandestine overseas visits, carrying out ‘field research' in
Mexico, Indonesia and elsewhere, in the ongoing search for over-the-counter Nembutal and other useful end-of-life drugs. During these trips, I've come to know the US–Mexican border region, with all its beauty and danger, quite well. Looking back, I've probably been lucky: walking ­unprotected into a compound in Denpasar,
Indonesia, to pick up a bottle of illegal Nembutal, just so I could get a photo for the
Handbook
, or being rescued by a total stranger as I searched for a non-existent drug contact in the more dangerous alleys of Varez,
Mexico, were both events I'd rather not repeat.

Despite this life of apparent shoe-string jetsetting, it was not until October 2008 that I began running Exit
workshops in other countries. The first
London workshop was planned to coincide with the launch of
The
Peaceful Pill eHandbook
at Conway Hall, home of the
South Place Ethical Society, which champions free speech. Two other workshops were planned, in Brighton and Bournemouth. I had picked the UK south coast on the advice of a Channel 7 ­journalist,
Mike Duffy. He'd spent many years living in the UK and knew that this area—an English version of Australia's Gold Coast, a place known also as ‘God's waiting room'—had an elderly demographic that would ideally suit the Exit message. However, even before I landed, the two booked venues in regional centres, nervous about
growing media interest, cancelled our bookings. The London workshop went ahead, but with only a handful of attendees, although
Robin Mackenzie from the Medicine and Ethics Department at the University of Kent, and
Neal Nicol, now our US publisher, did partici­pate. With so few contacts in the UK, it was impossible to find replacement venues for the regional centres at such short notice. Instead, a follow-up visit in several months' time was scheduled.

That initial visit to the UK was fraught from the time I arrived. While I did expect some media interest in our activities and had actively courted it from Australia as a way of promoting the workshops, and the usual complaints from religious groups, I didn't expect the
criticism that was levelled at me from the local voluntary euthanasia society,
Dignity in Dying. This long-established group is one of the oldest and wealthiest voluntary pro-euthanasia groups in the world, with a corporate structure that employs a swag of administrators and media minders. Ever alert to the possibility of an outside threat, they moved quickly to condemn the planned UK Exit
workshop program.

My first media appearance on this 2008 trip was on the highly regarded
Today
program on BBC Radio 4, hosted by
John Humphrys. However, instead of debating an expected Catholic Church spokesperson—as I was expecting—I found myself sparring with Dignity in Dying's CEO,
Sarah Wootten. Here we were, both representing the voluntary ­euthanasia movement, and fighting among ourselves. Our opponents would have loved it. I made multiple media appearances with Sarah that day, and she always had the same message: that I was a dangerous and irresponsible doctor giving the elderly and seriously ill damaging information on how they might kill themselves. My workshops, she argued, were inciting people to suicide and, as such, were illegal and should be banned. There was no place, it seemed, for co-existence, for a two-pronged approach with Exit providing
DIY options for those with an immediate need, and the longer term strategy of Dignity in Dying with its focus on changing British law. Like
Debbie Purdy, Sarah argued that it was irresponsible for Exit to provide the rational elderly with practical end-of-life information. Rather, she insisted, the UK law needed to change to give
doctors the right to select, and possibly help, end the life of the terminally ill. To Sarah, DIY death was an anathema, and on my subsequent 2009 UK visit, Dignity in Dying even went so far as to call for my deportation.

In retrospect, the behaviour of Dignity in Dying should not have been surprising. Back in 1998, when I was invited to London to donate the
Deliverance Machine to the British Science Museum, this group boycotted the ceremony. The directors of the museum couldn't understand their hostility and neither could I. Over time, the cause for this antagonism has become a little clearer. With such organisations, their raison d'être is about
legislative change that would bring about a medically mediated system to help the dying.
DIY ‘solutions' such as I was proposing in my
workshops, require no change in the law, and all but eliminate the involvement of the medical profession. Dignity in Dying saw my approach as anarchic and dangerous, and ultimately one that would make their job of law reform even harder.

On the 2008 trip, there were several media ­encounters that stood out. I remember a particularly nasty incident where I was ambushed on gardener
Alan Titchmarsh's ­popular afternoon program on ITV. The two others on the panel—one a doctor—were clearly hostile, perhaps not surprisingly. But what I was not expecting was the relentless bullying of Titchmarsh himself. As the panellists attacked, again ­arguing that my workshops were irresponsible and dangerous, Titchmarsh ensured I had no opportunity to respond. Every time I opened my mouth I was cut short, and the others given the stage. When it became obvious that I had been set up, I suggested, in the few words that I was given, that Alan might like to interview himself, but that I would no longer cooperate. As I came out of the studio, it was heartening to hear
Fiona's voice coming from the main BBC foyer, shouting at Titchmarsh's producer, who was trying desperately to ­quieten her, that they should have been ashamed of themselves for treating me with such disrespect.

While these media battles were being fought, venue ­cancellations were threatening the whole workshop program. Suddenly there were last-minute cancellations of bookings that had been made months earlier. Excuses were ­sometimes provided, but not always. Those who did try to explain said they feared a backlash if the workshops proceeded, with possible violence or damage to the venue. I had no way of knowing if the threats were real, but last-minute cancellation of a venue is a very effective means of censorship. The chaos caused, with little or no time to locate or even publicise an alternative, effectively prevents the message from reaching an audience. A win perhaps, for our opponents, but not completely. A frequent, but unexpected reaction was that some in the community were so incensed by this behaviour, which they saw as an attack on free speech, that they were moved to help by trying to find venues that could be used at a later date. Important ones identified were the
Brighthelm Community Church in Brighton, under the tutelage of Reverend
David Coleman, and
Hamilton Hall Hotel in Bournemouth, which is a naturist resort for gay men. As well, the wonderful
David Michael, formerly a councillor in Stroud in Gloucestershire, offered the local community hall as a venue. So, even though the first UK workshop program had been all but paralysed by controversy, seeds of hope were planted for a possible future visit.

The second visit to the UK took place a few months later and our meetings and workshops did take place, but only just. A new threat had emerged.
At
Heathrow,
Fiona and I found ourselves ushered out of the queue at Immigration, and down into the labyrinth of underground corridors to a bare room and told we were being detained. The reason: they needed time to decide if I was a suitable person to be allowed into their country. Fiona could have gone on, but I'm glad she decided to stay. We waited while the ­officers examined news reports past and present, trying to ­identify grounds for entry or deportation. All of our luggage was with us and a great deal of attention was directed at a small ­plastic container with three hypodermic syringes, labelled ‘
Exit Nembutal Test Kit'. While there was nothing illegal about the kit—it had been developed for home testing of euthanasia drugs—they were clearly worried. Then the Immigration officers located a recent
Time
magazine article about the development of the kit, called ‘Foolproofing suicide with euthanasia test kits'
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and we were told we just had to wait while the decision was made.

To the Immigration officers' credit, while we weren't allowed to have a lawyer present in the interviews, we were given unfettered access to our mobile phones. The first call I made was to
Murray McLaughlin at the ABC in Darwin, telling him of the
detention. Within minutes, the story was on the international newswire. I remember one Immigration officer coming into the holding room where we were waiting, muttering something like, ‘This is particularly unhelpful.'

Our second call home was to our barrister in Sydney. We were lucky; she was out walking her dog with another lawyer
friend, whose sister was married to London media lawyer
Mark
Stephens (who would go on to represent
Julian Assange in
one of his many court battles over extradition to Sweden).
He contacted the Home Office, demanding answers, and also rang his friend
Geoffrey Robertson QC, in case we needed backup. I'd crossed paths with Robertson years earlier, on his
Hypotheticals
television series. As word got round, other major media players got involved.
Cole Morton at
The Guardian
contacted the Home Office to see if he could get access to me to complete a forthcoming profile piece. Journalists from
The Times, The Independent
and
The Observer
all weighed in, along with television and radio outlets throughout the UK and Europe
.
Nine hours after first setting foot in England, we were finally released, but with a strict ten days only on our visas. Bournemouth was beckoning, not only to hold the much delayed and rescheduled
workshop, but also for the European launch of the prototype Nembutal test kit.

The publicity generated from being detained worked to our advantage. The launch of the
Nembutal test kit was one of those mad days of back-to-back media interviews. The ABC's London bureau did an interview, as did ABC America, and other major networks from around the world. As well, Reuters and Associated Press were at the launch and took some iconic photos. No fewer than five media live-cross ­satellite vans were parked outside the innocuous little
Hamilton Hall Hotel in Bournemouth. There were no death threats or violent protests, and owner
John Bellamy said it was the most fun he'd had in years, as he kept the tea and biscuits coming for both workshop attendees and media.

Never underestimate the interest the media shows when a euthanasia gadget or device is involved; I'd seen this before with the development of the
Deliverance Machine back in 1996. Now here it was again, this time focused on the homemade Nembutal test kit. It was a prototype, after all, and looked like it: a set of three syringes in a small plastic box from a two-dollar shop in Darwin. But it was treated as though it was a suicide kit itself, presumably because of the presence of the hypodermic syringes.
Fiona would later say it was the closest she got to experiencing the paparazzi, given the blinding camera flashes shot off in her face every time she opened the hotel's front door.

From Bournemouth, we moved on to Brighton, but just to hold a public meeting; the idea of a workshop had proven too controversial for
Brighthelm Church's management committee. Nevertheless, the church's goodwill was very welcome and allowed us to break the Brighton black ban. Then it was on to the neighbouring seaside town of Eastbourne and once again, more doors closed in our faces, more cancelled venues. Again we had to promise to return at a later date, to make it happen sometime in the future. (It would take another two visits to Eastbourne before a venue would finally stand firm. With the help of
Kathy Beech, a local who had been incensed by the earlier cancellations, a meeting and workshop took place at the
Eastbourne Riviera Hotel in November 2011.)

The Stroud and Glasgow workshops went ahead without a hitch. A few protestors at Stroud held a prayer meeting outside the hall, but it was clear from the crowd of more than a hundred attending that we were offering something they wanted. Clearly, not all of the UK was as reactionary, or as timid, as the southern seaside centres. The further north we went, the easier it became.

Attention now turned to North America. While I had visited the US and Canada regularly for conferences and NuTech gatherings etc., now was the time to take the next step and run our own set of
workshops to showcase Exit initiatives. The job of publicising our 2009 trip was made much easier when the Vancouver Public Library cancelled our booking, alleging that an Exit meeting would breach section 241 (a) and (b) of the
Canadian Criminal Code
, and that I would be guilty of counselling, aiding and abetting suicide. It was ironic that, the same week, the library ordered multiple copies of
The Peaceful Pill Handbook
and requested urgent shipping, presumably in response to heightened public demand.

I was totally amazed: more censorship, and this time in North America. We began looking around to see if we could find someone to help, someone willing to challenge this discrimination. We didn't have to look far—the
British Columbia Civil Liberties Association (BCCLA) soon came to our rescue. Led by the indefatigable
David Eby and with full backing of its board, the BCCLA insisted that the library hold a special meeting to reconsider their decision. When that didn't work, the BCCLA convened a press conference with the founder of the
Canadian Farewell Foundation,
Russel Ogden, which I attended via Skype from Darwin. The association's support of Exit that day was admirable. And it was also very pleasing to see them lead the successful
2012 Dying with Dignity case in the British Columbia Supreme Court, which saw the ban on assisted suicide struck down.
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This legal battle is ongoing.