By Catherine Frazee, OC, D.Litt., LLD. (Hon.)
Professor Emerita, School of Disability Studies, Ryerson University
We must protect the vulnerable, the Supreme Court told us in its landmark decision establishing a limited right to physician-hastened death in Canada. In my work with the federal External Panel appointed last year to facilitate a national consultation on physician-hastened death, there was wide agreement. On March 1, an impressively diverse coalition of advocacy, faith and medical organizations issued the Vulnerable Persons Standard, a clear articulation of what protections for vulnerable people should include.
There is very little argument that our new regulatory scheme for hastened death must build in safeguards to protect the vulnerable. But what exactly does this much-repeated phrase mean? Who is vulnerable, and why?
***
To be vulnerable, quite simply, is to be without defence.
For some persons – infants, toddlers, persons with extensive and severe impairments – vulnerability may be intrinsic to their condition of life. Without muscle to flee or resist, without words to request or refuse, without art or philosophy to reinvent or transcend, such persons are nearly fully at the mercy of others.
Yet even in these most seeming absolute expressions, vulnerability presents itself by degrees. The infant born in Oshawa in 2016 shows herself in fact to have robust defenses, compared to the infant born simultaneously in Aleppo, Syria. Likewise today’s toddler with Down syndrome from Kamloops is doubtless far less vulnerable than was her counterpart in Hadamar, at the peak of Nazi rule in 1941.
Vulnerability is as much a matter of context as it is of personal condition. In this way, for each and every one of us throughout life, vulnerability is situational, experienced when our defenses are stripped away.
Paradoxically, we are all vulnerable, yet many of us do not know vulnerability. For the most part, it remains an abstract notion about which we have little visceral sense. Without conscious attention to the mounting of protections, we have matured into adulthood and accrued the means to feed and clothe and shelter and keep safe our fragile and needy bodies. We acquired skills and knowledge, we built strength and savings and social networks, we found homes, jobs, love and meaning. And so we are not without defence – we have locks on our doors, clothes on our backs, food in our refrigerators, numbers on our speed dial.
Supporting these simple phases of our ‘independent’ adult development, are of course massive commitments of public investment and regulation – a veritable arsenal of defense to shield us from our human vulnerability: systems of health, education, job creation and public works. Most of us do not need to attend to our own vulnerability. When we adjust the thermostat, flush the toilet, place our garbage at the curb, the state takes over. When we purchase raw poultry, cross a busy intersection, install a new smoke detector, the state has our back.
If we are vulnerable but don’t know it, that is because the social contract is working in our favour. Only when our defenses fail – Walkerton comes to mind, or the Ice Storm of 1998 – do we experience the full force of our vulnerability and urgently scramble to our backup defenses: hospital emergency rooms for the sick, friends with woodstoves and generators for the cold and hungry. Again we find rescue, buoyed from the turbulent waters of crisis by our firm grip on the social determinants of health.
We must protect the vulnerable, the Supreme Court told us in its landmark decision establishing a limited right to physician-hastened death in Canada. In my work with the federal External Panel appointed last year to facilitate a national consultation on physician-hastened death, there was wide agreement. On March 1, an impressively diverse coalition of advocacy, faith and medical organizations issued the Vulnerable Persons Standard, a clear articulation of what protections for vulnerable people should include.
There is very little argument that our new regulatory scheme for hastened death must build in safeguards to protect the vulnerable. But what exactly does this much-repeated phrase mean? Who is vulnerable, and why?
***
To be vulnerable, quite simply, is to be without defence.
For some persons – infants, toddlers, persons with extensive and severe impairments – vulnerability may be intrinsic to their condition of life. Without muscle to flee or resist, without words to request or refuse, without art or philosophy to reinvent or transcend, such persons are nearly fully at the mercy of others.
Yet even in these most seeming absolute expressions, vulnerability presents itself by degrees. The infant born in Oshawa in 2016 shows herself in fact to have robust defenses, compared to the infant born simultaneously in Aleppo, Syria. Likewise today’s toddler with Down syndrome from Kamloops is doubtless far less vulnerable than was her counterpart in Hadamar, at the peak of Nazi rule in 1941.
Vulnerability is as much a matter of context as it is of personal condition. In this way, for each and every one of us throughout life, vulnerability is situational, experienced when our defenses are stripped away.
Paradoxically, we are all vulnerable, yet many of us do not know vulnerability. For the most part, it remains an abstract notion about which we have little visceral sense. Without conscious attention to the mounting of protections, we have matured into adulthood and accrued the means to feed and clothe and shelter and keep safe our fragile and needy bodies. We acquired skills and knowledge, we built strength and savings and social networks, we found homes, jobs, love and meaning. And so we are not without defence – we have locks on our doors, clothes on our backs, food in our refrigerators, numbers on our speed dial.
Supporting these simple phases of our ‘independent’ adult development, are of course massive commitments of public investment and regulation – a veritable arsenal of defense to shield us from our human vulnerability: systems of health, education, job creation and public works. Most of us do not need to attend to our own vulnerability. When we adjust the thermostat, flush the toilet, place our garbage at the curb, the state takes over. When we purchase raw poultry, cross a busy intersection, install a new smoke detector, the state has our back.
If we are vulnerable but don’t know it, that is because the social contract is working in our favour. Only when our defenses fail – Walkerton comes to mind, or the Ice Storm of 1998 – do we experience the full force of our vulnerability and urgently scramble to our backup defenses: hospital emergency rooms for the sick, friends with woodstoves and generators for the cold and hungry. Again we find rescue, buoyed from the turbulent waters of crisis by our firm grip on the social determinants of health.