Euthanasia in Malta is no longer a distant idea. It is a present, pressing topic now under public consultation. It is time we talk openly and honestly about what it means to give people the right to choose how their life ends.
To be pro-choice in euthanasia is not to be flippant about life. Quite the opposite. It is to say that life, in its deepest value, must also include the right to determine how it ends, with dignity, peace, and autonomy.
Autonomy is a core pillar of modern democratic society. We champion it in decisions about our bodies, our identities, our careers, our relationships. Yet, paradoxically, when it comes to death, the most intimate of all personal experiences, we often find that autonomy is taken off the table.
Dr Henry Marsh, a leading British neurosurgeon and writer, once said, “Even when there is no hope, there is still dignity.” That dignity, he argues, is closely tied to the ability to make our own decisions about when and how to die. Being pro-choice about euthanasia means recognising that some suffering is not only unbearable but also beyond remedy, and that in those cases, a forced continuation of life is a kind of cruelty masquerading as care.
Imagine the person who is living with a degenerative neurological disease. They are still lucid, still capable of thought and emotion, but trapped inside a body that no longer functions. Their days are filled not with life, but with indignity, pain, and silence. They have said their goodbyes, made peace, and ask not to be rescued, but to be released. What moral right does the state, the medical system, or society have to deny that request?
In places where assisted dying is legal, just like Belgium and Canada, euthanasia in Malta could be carefully regulated and rooted in compassion. In these countries, data shows that such laws are not abused. They are rigorously monitored, strictly implemented, and deeply personal. Yet these places also recognise that palliative care, while essential, cannot always reach the corners of suffering where the desire for death lives.
Opponents of euthanasia often argue from a place of morality. Life is sacred. All pain has meaning. But sacredness cannot be imposed, it must be chosen. When someone no longer finds meaning in continued existence due to unrelenting and irreversible suffering, our response must be one of compassion, not coercion.
Dr Jan Bernheim, a pioneer in palliative care in Belgium, once noted, “Euthanasia is not the opposite of palliative care; it is a part of it.” In other words, allowing someone the right to die should be seen not as an abandonment of care, but the ultimate extension of it, honouring their voice, their suffering, and their definition of dignity.
Malta is now in the midst of a national conversation about whether to legalise assisted voluntary euthanasia for terminally ill patients with six months to live. These proposals, currently under public consultation, present a vital opportunity to move past political noise and towards a future grounded in empathy. At the core of this conversation is a truth we often overlook: we need to stop romanticising pain. There is nothing noble or beautiful about being in agony when the end goal of that pain is death. Suffering is not proof of character. It is simply suffering.
Yes, safeguards are essential. No one should be pressured into euthanasia. And the concern over misuse is legitimate and important. But fear should not become paralysis. We legislate around risks every day, in medicine, in driving, in parenting. The presence of risk should not erase the right altogether.
To support pro-choice in euthanasia is to advocate for a society that recognises courage not just in the fight to live, but in the strength it takes to say, “I am ready.” Supporting euthanasia in Malta means providing real options, not mandates, hope, not fear. And above all, it means upholding dignity in a time and space where dignity can be so easily stripped away. Death is not the enemy. Suffering without choice is.