Election could determine whether people with mental illness can choose assisted death,
Medically assisted death for people like John Scully with mental illnesses depends on the election result . . .
John Scully says he regularly wakes up screaming from his “brutal” nightmares, a result of his post-traumatic stress disorder.
Sometimes they’re about the numerous war zones he’s been to throughout his career as a journalist: the street violence, guns, flying bullets.
Other times, they’re about the daily stress familiar to so many journalists — pressure to make decisions, fear of getting the story wrong, too many assignments at one time.
“Often they’re just horror,” said Scully, 80, in an interview.
Along with PTSD, Scully says he has severe depression and anxiety, but no treatment or medication over the decades have helped alleviate his suffering.
“I’ve been to literally dozens of psychiatrists, dozens of psychologists, I’ve been admitted to CAMH six or seven times on a long-term basis,” he said. “I’ve been through all the therapies, including 19 shock therapies, behavioural therapy. My bête noire is group therapy. “There’s no drug I haven’t tried.” What Scully wants, and the reason the Toronto man has been speaking publicly about his conditions, is to die.
He has become an advocate for medical assistance in dying (MAID) on the sole basis of mental illness — set to become legal in Canada in two years following the passage this year of the Liberal government’s Bill C-7.
“I have a human right to have the same rights of treatment as a person with a physical illness, including MAID,” he said.
That expansion of the MAID regime is now at a crossroads given the ongoing federal election, and could end up coming to a halt depending on the outcome at the polls.
The Conservatives have promised to repeal the mental illness expansion, and reimpose some of the rules on accessing MAID that were lifted by C-7.
The Liberals announced a 12-member
expert panel just two days before the writ drop to come up with safeguards by next March for MAID on the basis of a mental illness.
The issue is an emotional one that cuts to the core of deeply held personal beliefs for many Canadians. Underpinning much of the debate is a fundamental question: In what circumstances can someone’s mental illness be deemed incurable and their suffering intolerable so as to allow a medically assisted death?
Scully, who has attempted suicide in the past, said MAID would allow for time to plan with his family, who he says are supportive of his wishes. And it would avoid the physical and emotional pain stemming from a suicide attempt, he said.
“There’s a doctor who will administer a proper dose of the right medication, that will offer you a peaceful, dignified death,” he said.
An Ipsos poll conducted in February on behalf of advocacy group Dying with Dignity Canada found that 65 per cent of Canadians support expanding MAID on the basis of a mental illness, as long as the person has capacity to consent and the other eligibility criteria is met — that the illness is incurable and the person’s suffering is intolerable.
The government initially banned MAID for mental illness in C-7, but accepted a Senate amendment that would make it legal down the road. Senators in favour had argued that banning individuals with mental illnesses was discriminatory and likely unconstitutional.
The bill allows individuals whose natural deaths are not reasonably foreseeable to apply for MAID. The Conservatives say C-7 went too far, and that the government failed to listen to organizations representing people with disabilities who said C-7 could push individuals to seek MAID due to lack of supports and services.
The mental illness expert panel’s formation comes at an “unfortunate time” given the ongoing election, said member Dr. Donna Stewart.
“Politics may play a bigger role in this than one would like it to, with various parties deciding that they need to take a position at the extreme ends of the spectrum, whereas most people are somewhere along that spectrum,” said Stewart, not commenting on the work of the panel itself.
Opening up MAID to those with mental illnesses has divided advocates and experts. Some argue that it can’t be done safely, and could lead to marginalized individuals with lack of supports to apply for the procedure.
Experts in favour argue it would only apply to a very small number of individuals, who would be thoroughly assessed after having lived with their symptoms for years and gone through a number of treatments that failed to alleviate their suffering.
An important part of the expert panel’s
and her daughter.
While these ceremonies vary from community to community, at Nahanee’s, witnesses were called to remember her name and share teachings about the meaning of carrying the name. During the ceremony, she and her daughter wore new regalia and stood on wool blankets to signify walking into a new life with the name. They also hosted a feast and a giveaway for guests and witnesses.
“So it was a marking. It’s a connection and a protection for you. It also comes with what we call teachings that tell us how to care for the name and how to be our best person,” she said. “You want to take care of the name and you want to carry the name forward, so the next generations have that name. You build a legacy with that name.”
Then in 2018, she had a reckoning of her Squamish name while attending a conference and introducing herself on a panel in what was her limited ability with her native language. Suddenly, she said, she heard a voice from her ancestor asking her, “Who are you?”
Nahanee said she felt that was a message to learn more about her heritage language in order to stand stronger with her Indigenous identity. The next day, she shared that spiritual experience with her uncle, who also had an admonition: It was time for her to take an ancestral name.
Later, she visited all her other family members to ask for the permission to use the five-generation-old name “Ta7talíya,” to make sure she was deserving of it. On the winter solstice of that year, she received the name at a ceremony and family feast. From that moment, she began to ask everyone she meets to address her by her “rebirth” name. Nahanee has tried to update her name in email addresses and Facebook or fill out online forms with her Indigenous name but they wouldn’t take the “7” or the accent of the “í.”
“For a while, I would spend the time to write to people and say, ‘I try to fill out your form but it wouldn’t accept my name. Can you change the form?’ ” she recalled.
“That’s a lot of my time, and I just decided I’m not gonna keep pushing this.”
Then Nahanee saw a LinkedIn post by Burnabybased immigration lawyer Will Tao of Heron Law Offices about its pro-bono project to help members of the Indigenous community reclaim their traditional names under Ottawa’s new program. And the two connected.
In the wake of the Kamloops discovery, Tao said, he and his team felt strongly about their collective responsibility as settlers on stolen land to offer support, and the project came naturally for them as experts in immigration law and operations.
It didn’t take them long to realize all the hurdles and barriers applicants face in the name-reclaiming process that go beyond the limitations on characters.
All applicants, for instance, must first navigate a cumbersome provincial name-change process as a prerequisite to reclaim their names on passports, citizenship certificates and Indian status cards.
“What complicates this further is that many folks may have been born in a different province and have or need documentation from that province for the application,” Tao explained.
“Many provinces did not even post the process for Indigenous name changes, so we had to reach out to those provinces to figure out how to do it.”
Each province also has different rules on who can receive fee waivers, while the federal government does it free of charge. In B.C., for example, applicants also require an affidavit to prove one is connected to Indian residential schools or the “Sixties scoop.”
In Ontario, residential school survivors and family can reclaim their Indigenous names for free until January 2022. They can change to a single name, if it is part of your traditional culture or the child’s traditional culture, with evidence supporting the naming practice.
“We are seeing many individuals who contact us not go ahead or proceed,” said Tao, whose office is currently working on four applications.
He said the federal government needs to push the provinces to align policies and make this program more accessible, and maybe provide inperson support and guidance via Service Canada or those administering the Indian status cards. Deer said the Indigenous name reclamation is going to have positive impact toward reconciliation, a journey that never ends.
“That’s not something you flip the switch and you will achieve reconciliation. That journey might require these steps, these initiatives to engage people and on topics that really matter to them,” he said.
“The government bureaucrats who are responsible for bringing these things to life are also on a journey,” Deer added. “It would be a lofty goal to expect a Canadian government, whatever orientation, Liberal, NDP, whatever, to get this right, right away.”
According to the immigration department, as of July 30, it has received fewer than five requests for replacement passports issued in reclaimed Indigenous names.
Nahanee said she’s not surprised with the low uptake and hopes both the federal and provincial governments recognize the significance of the name change to Indigenous communities.
“For me, being able to use my name Ta7talíya on my driver’s licence and my passport allows me to show up in the world as a whole human as who I fully am. When I’m only able to show up as Michelle, really that’s just one part of who I am,” she said.
What’s also significant in reclaiming the Indigenous name, said Nahanee, is the cultural shift that comes with the visibility of these traditional names in the colonial world.
“My name actually is not that hard to pronounce and how easy you can move beyond your fear by saying Ta7talíya versus being stalled by the 7,” said Nahanee, whose first name is pronounced with the number being silent.
“If all of us are able to share with the world every time we show our ID, it just opens up that normalizing Indigenous language, normalizing Indigenous teachings and normalizing Indigenous ways. So please make policy that works for us.”
“It just opens up that normalizing Indigenous language, normalizing Indigenous teachings and normalizing Indigenous ways.” TA7TALÍYA NAHANEE