In the period leading up to the proposed legislation, the government compiled a secret blacklist of over a thousand websites that would be banned once the law was passed and suitable filtering technology implemented. While I had my suspicions, it wasn’t until WikiLeaks published the blacklist in March 2009 that I discovered that The Peaceful Pill eHandbook website (www.peacefulpill.com) was included. This was the only voluntary euthanasia site to be targeted. (Interestingly, as soon as WikiLeaks published the government’s secret list, it found itself added to the same blacklist.) At this point, it became clear that the blacklist was also about more than just child pornography, or even porn in general. The government had another agenda. The blacklist allowed the Minister to use his discretion to ban almost any website he wanted, and there would be no system of appeal. I was left wondering if anyone cared that Australia was heading down the same censorship route as the dictatorships and theocracies of such countries as North Korea, the United Arab Emirates, Iran and China.
Throughout 2009 and 2010 the question of the mandatory filter and the blacklist was increasingly discussed in the media, and at public debates and forums. In The Sydney Morning Herald, conservative commentator Michael Duffy (himself a voluntary euthanasia supporter) wrote a column titled ‘Web filtering pulls plug on euthanasia debate’.6 Speaking about his article at a Politics in the Pub night in Sydney soon after, Duffy asked rhetorically ‘What do these three sites have in common: www.pantyass.com, www.peacefulpill.com and www.pickyourperversion.com?’ Of course, these are sequential ‘P’ listings from the websites Senator Conroy was planning to ban. There was my book, sandwiched between the porn and titillation.
But there is often a light side to such darkness; there has to be. During the 2010 National Science Festival in Canberra, Fiona and I were invited by Erica Ryan, the Manager of Collections at the National Library, to visit the underground storage vaults. I jumped at the chance, as this secure area is where the nation’s banned books and other ‘dangerous’ printed materials are housed. The vaults are in the basement, behind thick steel doors and under lock and key—a maximum-security prison for books. With lock after lock finally opened, we were shown my little book, wedged in between titles such as Busty Broads and Tales of Tom Thumb. With a mischievous look, Erica took the book from the shelf and suggested we might like to autograph the copy. Fiona marked the occasion with a photograph. I had to laugh. The only other place The Peaceful Pill Handbook is legally held in Australia is Parliament House Library in Canberra.
At a grassroots level, Exit responded to the threat of the clean feed by introducing our elderly members to concepts such as ‘virtual private networks’ and ‘internet tunnels’, which are technological means of getting around an internet filter. We placed our regular information workshop program on hold and hastily convened alternative meetings that focused on ways to subvert government censorship. With expertise from the twenty-something geeks of the Pirate Party, we held hacking meetings on the east coast of Australia. It was wonderful to see our senior citizens arriving with laptops and wi-fi modems in hand, ready to learn how to keep their internet access free from government interference. After all, if their grandchildren could hack through their schools’ firewalls, surely they could also learn such skills? ABC television’s Four Corners program covered Exit’s response to the government’s censorship plans in a report by Quentin McDermott titled: ‘Access Denied’.7
In 2010 the ongoing war on censorship recommenced when we attempted to air a pro-choice euthanasia television commercial. A billboard was planned to be unveiled not long after. While the commercial was banned outright, the billboard did eventually go up on the Hume Highway, south of Sydney.
In July that year, the ABC’s comedy program based around the ad industry, The Gruen Transfer, featured ‘compulsory euthanasia for the over 80s’ as part of their Pitch segment. The Pitch is where two ad agencies each make a television commercial that seeks to sell the impossible. Among the more infamous pitches have been those selling child labour and the banning of all religion. Sydney agency The Works, led by Kevin Macmillan, won the euthanasia pitch with a delightful and innovative ad. At the time, Exit had come into a sizeable bequest. We contacted Kevin with a view to entering the advertising fray. Three months later, the ‘Exit Choices’ television commercial was completed.
The advertisement shows a man in his pyjamas sitting on the edge of his bed, talking about the choices he’s made through his life: ‘Life’s all about choices. Like I chose to go to uni and study engineering.’ The ad ends with the man asking why he isn’t allowed to decide to end his suffering from cancer, which, as he states, he ‘didn’t choose to get’.8 In Australia, all advertisements must be approved by the Commercials Advice process of a quasi-governmental body called ‘Free TV Australia’. In the case of Exit’s advertisement, approval was given, only to be suddenly withdrawn at the last moment.9 No reason was provided. Free TV’s counsel issued a statement saying that the commercial provided ‘a realistic depiction of methods of suicide’ and was thereby ‘invariably unsuitable’ for television. Of course, this was rubbish. The commercial showed nothing more than a man in his pyjamas sitting on an unmade bed talking about the decisions he had made in his life. His wife is in the frame behind him, a mug of coffee in her hand. No discussion on ‘method’, and no ‘depiction’. With no appeal process, it seemed our $25 000 investment had been wasted.
While the commercial never ran in the Channel 7 late-night spot we purchased (luckily, we got our money back), The Gruen Transfer took a keen interest in the issue. The censorship of a commercial piqued their interest. In their last show for 2010, they had their panel critically examine the commercial on air. They then played it in its entirety. Thanks to The Gruen Transfer, the advertisement and the Exit message got out. What was particularly pleasing was that the commercial was seen by millions of TV viewers (not to mention those who have since seen it on YouTube). This was advertising space we could never have afforded. Sometimes censorship has a silver lining.
The TV commercial was followed by a billboard campaign. Inspired by the success of atheist groups in the UK who had created controversy by purchasing space on the side of double-decker buses for their secular mass media messages (‘There’s probably no god, now stop worrying and enjoy your life’), our billboard plan was put into action. We kept the message simple, with no graphics and no images—nothing ‘objectionable’. The message: ‘85% of Australians support Voluntary Euthenasia. Our Government doesn’t. Make them Listen.’ We took this statistic from the October 2009 Newspoll that had been published in The Australian, as we thought no one could argue with it.10 How wrong we were.
Within days, the Australian Advertising Standards Bureau started receiving complaints.11 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 othe
r 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’.12 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.13 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.
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