You know, when I first got involved in politics, it wasn’t because I had
some grand plan to stand on Parliament Hill one day and speak about a bill like
this.
Tamara Jansen speaking at EPC rally.
It started much more simply. I got to know my local MP Mark Warawa and loved what he stood for. I started helping him organize town halls, meet with people in the community, and make connections. He was doing all this because he was passionate about the vulnerable citizens living among us.
And one of the things Mark cared deeply about was palliative care. He believed, in a very real and practical way, that when people are suffering, our job is to come alongside them—to care for them, to support them, to remind them that they are not alone.
Now, Mark also served on the original committee studying what would become MAiD, and I remember him saying—more than once—that we needed to be very careful because once you open a door like that, you don’t always get to decide how far it swings.
At the time, some people thought that was a bit of a stretch.
But I don’t think anyone would say that today.
Because here we are, just a few years later, and what began as something quite limited has been expanded, piece by piece, to the point where we are now planning to offer MAiD to those whose only condition is mental illness—people who are not at the end of life.
And somewhere along the way, I found myself thinking: this isn’t what people believed they were agreeing to.
That’s why I brought forward Bill C-218, building on the work of my colleague Ed Fast—because at some point, when you can see where a road is leading, you have to be willing to stop and say, “Let’s take another look at this before we go any further.”
Now, when you take the time to really look at what is being proposed here, and you listen carefully to the people who are working most closely with those who are suffering, you begin to understand that this issue is far more complex than it is often presented by organizations like Dying With Dignity. We have heard from psychiatrists across this country—highly trained, deeply experienced professionals—who are telling us, quite plainly, that when it comes to mental illness, there is no reliable way to determine that a condition is truly irremediable.
That word matters, because it is the very foundation upon which MAiD rests. It assumes that we can identify, with confidence, when suffering cannot be alleviated. But in the case of mental illness, the evidence simply does not support that level of certainty, and the doctors themselves are telling us so.
And if we pause for a moment and reflect on that, it raises a very serious concern. Because what we are being asked to accept is not a clear medical conclusion, but a judgment—one that carries permanent consequences. Mental illness does not follow a straight line. It shifts, it responds, it improves, sometimes in ways that surprise even those who have spent years studying it. People who once believed they could not go on have, with time and care, found their footing again. And yet, under this expansion, we are being asked to make life-ending decisions with no clear certainty that things couldn’t improve with time and care.
But there is another piece of this that Canadians often don’t realize. Under the current framework, there is no requirement that a person must have received every reasonable treatment—or even meaningful treatment at all—before being approved for MAiD. Just think about that for a moment. We are prepared to offer a permanent solution, even in situations where the path to care has not been fully pursued, or where access to that care may have been limited in the first place.
And when you place that reality alongside the circumstances many people are living in, it becomes much more serious. Because vulnerability is not just about a diagnosis—it is about the whole situation a person finds themselves in. It is about someone who feels isolated, someone who feels like a burden on their family, someone who looks around and quietly begins to wonder whether others might be better off without them. Those are not rare thoughts in moments of deep struggle—they are, in fact, painfully common.
So we have to ask ourselves what happens when a person in that state is presented with MAiD as an option. Are they making a free and fully unburdened choice, or are they responding to a set of pressures—emotional, social, even financial—that are shaping that decision in ways we cannot measure?
At the same time, experts who have spoken to us have raised another concern, one that is difficult to ignore. They are seeing individuals who are already struggling with suicidal thoughts becoming aware that there is now a system that can provide the outcome they want.
And in some cases, when one door closes, another can be found—because what has emerged is a form of doctor shopping, where individuals seek out assessors who are willing to say yes, even when others have urged caution or continued care. Some experts have described this as creating a kind of pull, where MAiD begins to appear not as a last resort after every avenue has been exhausted, but as an available alternative.
We have already seen the consequences of that. Kiano’s story is one that many of you here know well. He was a young man who was struggling, who needed support, who needed time, and whose mother fought for him—fought the system for him—because she believed, as any parent would, that her son’s life was worth fighting for. And yet, despite those efforts, he was eventually able to find a pathway that led to his death. How many more Kiano’s are out there that we have not heard about?
And that is where this becomes more than policy. Because when a system allows that kind of outcome, it raises a very serious question about whether we are truly protecting the vulnerable, or whether we are making it easier for them to give up at the very moment they most need someone to stand in the gap for them.
And so I want to close by simply saying thank you.
Thank you to every one of you who has taken the time to stand here today, and to so many others across this country who may not be on this hill, but who have picked up the phone, written an email, or had a conversation with their Member of Parliament because they know this matters.
These things are not always easy to do. They take time, they take courage, and they come from a place of deep concern—not just for ourselves, but for people we may never meet.
And that, more than anything, is what this bill represents.
It represents a decision, as a country, to stand with those who are struggling… especially when they cannot stand on their own. It represents a belief that vulnerability should never become a pathway to being overlooked, or worse, to being offered something final when what is still needed is care, time, and hope.
And I want you to know that your voices are being heard.
In Parliament, those calls, those letters, those conversations—they matter. They shape decisions, they influence outcomes. They remind every Member of Parliament that behind every vote are real people, real families, and real lives.
So please, keep going.
Keep speaking.
Keep standing for those who need someone to stand for them.
Together we will reaffirm the kind of country we want to be. One that truly cares for those most vulnerable in communities across Canada.
Thank you.
- Tamara Jansen speech in the House of Commons on Bill C -218, preventing euthanasia for mental illness alone (Read).
