February 14, 2025 - 10:30am

Suicide has a devastating impact on a community. The ripples are felt far and wide by family and friends. People torment themselves with questions that will never be answered: could I have done more? Why didn’t I know he or she was so distressed? Guilt and shame sometimes last for years, combining with grief to create unbearable anguish.

Why has this dimension featured so little in the debate around Labour MP Kim Leadbeater’s assisted dying bill? Research suggests that bereavement from suicide is, rather unsurprisingly, “known to be associated with numerous negative outcomes”, including impacts on both mental and physical health. Another study has found that between five and 15 relatives are affected by a single instance of suicide in a family.

Yet more evidence of the sinister consequences of suicide is that there is a one in 10 suicide risk among friends and relatives who have lost someone through the same means. The study found that “people bereaved by the sudden death of a friend or family member are 65% more likely to attempt suicide if the deceased died by suicide than if they died by natural causes.”

There is no reason why an assisted suicide should have less harmful effects. Imagine that your mother decides she is depressed and believes herself to be draining family resources, no matter how often you assure her she isn’t. She has a diagnosis that allows herself to opt for an assisted death under the — ever-expanding — terms of Leadbeater’s bill. Would you shrug and say: “it’s her decision”?

Even worse, what if your father takes himself off to a clinic where he imbibes a cocktail of lethal drugs supplied by a doctor without any discussion or warning? Would that be any less upsetting than discovering he’s chosen to end his life in a different way?

Supporters of the bill appear to exist in a different universe, where a warm bath of self-congratulation for reducing suffering washes away every objection. In their world, suicide is a rational, individual and above all empowering act, carried out in circumstances where coercion is vanishingly rare. The feelings of other people barely come into it; nor doe the risk of introducing suicidal ideation, to use the technical term, into a family.

Such ideas, once implanted in someone’s head, are very dangerous. Indeed, the impact can be multi-generational, as the classicist Edith Hall demonstrates in her harrowing and illuminating memoir, Facing Down The Furies: Suicide, The Ancient Greeks, And Me. Hall’s great-grandfather, whom she compares to the tragic hero Ajax, killed himself. So did his daughter, Hall’s grandmother, after whom she was named. She compares the impact of suicide to “a psychological miasma, since incidences of suicide can make suicidal thoughts more likely”.

A series of alarming admissions have already emerged from the committee considering the Leadbeater bill, such as the attempts to get rid of the approval of a High Court judge. But the effect of detaching suicide from its social context has hardly been addressed. Some supporters appear to believe that death should be a routine offer in healthcare, like chemotherapy or heart surgery, and doesn’t need to be part of a discussion involving anyone but the patient.

It’s a fantasy, of course, creating an illusion that death can be managed and isn’t something to fear — but a fantasy no less. Death is not a treatment. None of us can escape it, but we can avoid the extra burdens of guilt and shame created by state-sanctioned suicide.


Joan Smith is a novelist and columnist. She was previously Chair of the Mayor of London’s Violence Against Women and Girls Board, and is on the advisory group for Sex Matters. Her book Unfortunately, She Was A Nymphomaniac: A New History of Rome’s Imperial Women was published in November 2024.

polblonde