Richard Carvath, a “Conservative political activist” in the UK who hopes to be an MP, has written a rebarbative piece on Tony Nicklinson.
Tony Nicklinson shouldn’t have done it, you see. He was being a selfish baby doing it. Carvath knows, because he once fell off a mountain and spent weeks feeling like crap – and then got better. That’s totally comparable to Nicklinson’s life being locked in without the ability to talk and with no prospect of getting better.
Poor old Tony Nicklinson. His wife wants to kill him, his family want to kill him, his barrister wants to kill him, the mainstream media want to kill him, the euthanasia lobby want to kill him and a vociferous mob of Twitter followers want to kill him. It’s enough to depress anyone to the point of despair. In a recent tweet, Cheryl Baker (yes, she of 1981 Eurovision Bucks Fizz fame) seemed to sum up the general attitude of the misguided ‘Kill Tony’ mob when she wrote: “My heart cries for Tony Nicklinson. If he was a dog there would be no ethical or moral decision to be made, just whatever is best for him.” But Tony is not a dog. Tony is a human being. Last week, thankfully, Tony failed in his attempt to change the law which serves to protect us all from murder. The upholding of the law was applauded by champions of justice and pro-life defenders of the disabled – and rightly so. Tony Nicklinson isn’t terminally ill; he is severely physically disabled but he is not dying; Tony has a life to live.
A horrible life, of being totally dependent, unable to do anything but watch tv, unable to scratch an itch or make a point in a conversation. He didn’t like it, and he wanted to know he could end it if it got unendurable. The fact that he wasn’t dying was part of what worried him: he didn’t want another twenty years of that emptied-out life.
The first day that I stood up after the accident was Day 33, and it was many more weeks before I was able to proceed with learning to walk again. Wheelchairs, frames and sticks were my lot for a long time. To be severely incapacitated for several weeks was painful, humiliating and unpleasant – but despite it all I had peace, hope, purpose and the will to live. My memory of being completely incapacitated is such that I can reasonably claim a better insight than many able-bodied observers into what it feels like to be trapped unable to move in one’s own body. Tony Nicklinson’s epic trial of years of paralysis is greater than my few weeks and months of incapacity, but unlike many I can claim to have had a taster of his torment, and hand-on-heart I say there is no suffering so great that it cannot be endured when we know the source of the courage to conquer our worst fears.
Sanctimonious piece of shit – he doesn’t know that, his experience isn’t comparable because he knew all along it would end soon, and in any case it’s not up to him to decide instead of the person whose life it is.
Let me make it plain: anybody who wants to kill Tony does not want to care for him. Nobody murders another person they claim to love and are committed to caring for. Nobody who loves and cares for a disabled person thinks or speaks in favour of putting that disabled person to death.
Okay that’s it, that makes me so angry I’m not going to read any more of it. That’s a wicked thing to say.
A bad bit of work, Richard Carvath.