It’s Wednesday and that means that this controversial, never-ending painful election season is finally over. This campaign season has been all-consuming, almost to the extent that I can’t remember what life was like without it constantly playing out in the background. I think it has been weeks, probably months, since I went a day without mentioning or thinking about the presidential election.
And now, it’s over. Many have noted that with the end of election season, our country’s divides and political fragments will not fade away. Our newly elected president has a momentous task—to unite a nation under one vision—even a nation as diverse and passionate as our own. However, the issues that we must ruminate on aren’t exclusively political. As we close this chapter of our nation’s history, I can’t help but to think of the fundamental properties of life that unite us all: mortality.
As a young American, I often think about my life in terms of the future—my degree at Duke, my career and where I want to live. Rarely, do I ever think about the end of my life. What does it mean to die? How do we reconcile living full and meaningful lives while acknowledging that at some, unknown point in the future, it will inevitably end?
It’s complicated and much like our vastly dissenting political views, there is no consensus on death.
The right to die movement has a long legacy that can be traced back to the 1950s. Simmering in controversy, the movement gained momentum beginning in the 1990s. In 1994, voters in the state of Oregon voted 51 to 49 percent to approve Ballot Measure 16, that allowed terminally ill patients to use physician’s prescriptions to obtain medication that would allow for a humane death. Today, the states that allow residents to legally acquire end-of-life prescription medications are Oregon, Washington, California, Vermont and Montana. Legislation provides stringent guidelines and in order to qualify as you must be a resident of the state, be considered “mentally competent,” and have a diagnosis that at least two physicians believe will lead to death within a six-month period. There are several other steps to the process such as giving multiple forms of oral consent, written consent and waiting periods.
The movement has many passionate advocates, but also critics. Much of the opposition to the movement is deeply rooted in religious tradition. In the Catholic teachings of the Catechism 2280 it is written, “Everyone is responsible for his life before God who has given it to him. It is God who remains the sovereign Master of life. We are obliged to accept life gratefully and preserve it for his honor and the salvation of our souls. We are stewards, not owners, of the life God has entrusted to us. It is not ours to dispose of.”
But what happens when life is simply too painful to live? Modern medical advances have allowed us to save people from brink of death, with treatments and therapies that can sometime prolong life or prevent death, but can’t quite cure or treat.
Dr. Atul Gawande, a doctor who I have long followed and admired, published a book titled, “Being Mortal” on the topic a few years ago. His book is a reflection on the terrible pain and often unseen suffering of the elderly and chronically ill. As a physician, he questions the driving force behind his field, whether to ensure patients survival or enabling their well being. He reflects largely on these patients as “victims of our refusal to accept the inexorability of our life cycle.”
At the heart of this debate is a moral issue. Who decides who gets to live and die? Is it fair for one person to choose to end their own life when there are other people out there fighting for a chance to live theirs? I can’t help but to think about family members I’ve lost to medical conditions and what I would give to have them back in my life. Somewhere, I am insulted at the idea of helping people let go of life, because I believe that our lives are worth fighting for. But who am I to make that decision? Who am I to enforce my beliefs when I cannot feel their pain or understand their suffering?
I believe that there is something sacred about our time here on Earth. I believe that we are all connected simply by the fact that we were chosen to be here and share this space with one another. My parents raised me to live my life with purpose and it seems so wrong to then condone the ending of a life. However, my parents also taught me that to live life with purpose is to have grace, humility and empathy. Isn’t it then my duty to allow those that find themselves in these difficult positions the dignity to make this decision for themselves? There are no easy answers and there is no universal truth, but I am certain that the only people who have the right to end-of-life care decisions are those who are living in that reality themselves.
Shruti Rao is a Trinity junior. Her column, "taming of the shru," runs on alternate Wednesdays.
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