I, too, thank Liam McArthur for the approach that he has taken in engaging with members across the chamber, on both sides of the debate. I do not think that there is anybody better suited—either in temperament or in manner of engagement—to have brought such a sensitive and complex bill to the chamber, and I sincerely thank him for that.

I echo Liz Smith’s comment that this debate, throughout its stages—1, 2 and 3—has been an exceptional demonstration of this Parliament at its best. It is perhaps cheeky of me to say this as I leave this Parliament, and as someone who has been an MSP for 15 years and was in Government for 12 and has never once voted against the whip, but perhaps less whipping in this Parliament might not be a bad thing after all.

In what is likely to be my final speech as an MSP—other members have said this—I cannot think of a more consequential piece of legislation to be speaking to. In 15 years in this Parliament, I, like so many of my colleagues, have cast hundreds, if not thousands, of votes. Day after day, we come to this chamber and, more often than not, we vote as instructed by that slip of paper that is handed to us by our whips. However, today, there is no party line—no whip. Today, every member must be guided not by a slip of paper, but by the weight of their own conscience.

My conscience tells me this: a society that leaves someone with a terminal diagnosis believing that their only options are either to endure intolerable suffering or to end their life prematurely has failed them. I refuse to accept that those are the only two choices available. There must be a third one—one that gives people comfort, relief and, yes, dignity in their death—without sending the message that ending their life is the only option available to them.

As someone who has taken a number of bills through this Parliament—and, dare I say, one or two that have even courted some controversy—I know how carefully we must think about the unintended consequences of legislation, especially legislation such as this bill, which is born of good intentions. Over the years we have corrected bad law, we have amended acts and we have even repealed acts. This bill is different, however. When the unintended consequences are death, there is no correcting it afterwards. No repeal can reverse it, and no secondary legislation can undo it. Death is final.

Even many of the bill’s strongest supporters have had to concede that there is no absolute, cast-iron safeguard against coercion. Coercion is not always loud. It is not always an overt threat. Sometimes it is quieter than that. Sometimes it is a look, a sigh, a hesitation, a sense that you are a burden, a feeling that your family would simply be better off without you. That is what troubles me the most.

That is not to say that those who argue passionately for the right to an assisted death do not have a case; of course they do. We would have to have a heart of stone not to be moved by some of the testimony that we have heard. I know that from personal experience. When my uncle died from pancreatic cancer, aged 54, I washed his body in preparation for his funeral, as is our Islamic custom. He had been a stocky man—5 foot 8 and 13 stone—before his diagnosis. By the time he died, he weighed just 6.5 stone. As I washed him, I could feel his bones protruding through his skin. When he died, I felt grief and heartache, but I also felt relief that he was no longer suffering.

I therefore say this with real empathy for those who are facing terminal illness, pain, fear and loss of dignity. If, in giving a small minority this option, we create a law under which even one person ends their life because they feel guilty, dependent or like a burden, then the Parliament will not have made compassionate law; it will have made dangerous law.

When disabled people’s organisations and domestic abuse organisations and experts warn us, and when those who know what it is like to live with dependency tell us that this law could expose people to pressure that they may never name as coercion, we should not just hear them—we should listen to them.

To colleagues who remain undecided tonight, I simply say this. If you are not absolutely certain that this bill can protect those most at risk, then do not pass it. If even one person chooses death, not from true autonomy but from quiet pressure, that is one person too many.

19:57

I, too, thank Liam McArthur for the approach that he has taken in engaging with members across the chamber, on both sides of the debate. I do not think that there is anybody better suited—either in temperament or in manner of engagement—to have brought such a sensitive and complex bill to the chamber, and I sincerely thank him for that.

I echo Liz Smith’s comment that this debate, throughout its stages—1, 2 and 3—has been an exceptional demonstration of this Parliament at its best. It is perhaps cheeky of me to say this as I leave this Parliament, and as someone who has been an MSP for 15 years and was in Government for 12 and has never once voted against the whip, but perhaps less whipping in this Parliament might not be a bad thing after all.

In what is likely to be my final speech as an MSP—other members have said this—I cannot think of a more consequential piece of legislation to be speaking to. In 15 years in this Parliament, I, like so many of my colleagues, have cast hundreds, if not thousands, of votes. Day after day, we come to this chamber and, more often than not, we vote as instructed by that slip of paper that is handed to us by our whips. However, today, there is no party line—no whip. Today, every member must be guided not by a slip of paper, but by the weight of their own conscience.

My conscience tells me this: a society that leaves someone with a terminal diagnosis believing that their only options are either to endure intolerable suffering or to end their life prematurely has failed them. I refuse to accept that those are the only two choices available. There must be a third one—one that gives people comfort, relief and, yes, dignity in their death—without sending the message that ending their life is the only option available to them.

As someone who has taken a number of bills through this Parliament—and, dare I say, one or two that have even courted some controversy—I know how carefully we must think about the unintended consequences of legislation, especially legislation such as this bill, which is born of good intentions. Over the years we have corrected bad law, we have amended acts and we have even repealed acts. This bill is different, however. When the unintended consequences are death, there is no correcting it afterwards. No repeal can reverse it, and no secondary legislation can undo it. Death is final.

Even many of the bill’s strongest supporters have had to concede that there is no absolute, cast-iron safeguard against coercion. Coercion is not always loud. It is not always an overt threat. Sometimes it is quieter than that. Sometimes it is a look, a sigh, a hesitation, a sense that you are a burden, a feeling that your family would simply be better off without you. That is what troubles me the most.

That is not to say that those who argue passionately for the right to an assisted death do not have a case; of course they do. We would have to have a heart of stone not to be moved by some of the testimony that we have heard. I know that from personal experience. When my uncle died from pancreatic cancer, aged 54, I washed his body in preparation for his funeral, as is our Islamic custom. He had been a stocky man—5 foot 8 and 13 stone—before his diagnosis. By the time he died, he weighed just 6.5 stone. As I washed him, I could feel his bones protruding through his skin. When he died, I felt grief and heartache, but I also felt relief that he was no longer suffering.

I therefore say this with real empathy for those who are facing terminal illness, pain, fear and loss of dignity. If, in giving a small minority this option, we create a law under which even one person ends their life because they feel guilty, dependent or like a burden, then the Parliament will not have made compassionate law; it will have made dangerous law.

When disabled people’s organisations and domestic abuse organisations and experts warn us, and when those who know what it is like to live with dependency tell us that this law could expose people to pressure that they may never name as coercion, we should not just hear them—we should listen to them.

To colleagues who remain undecided tonight, I simply say this. If you are not absolutely certain that this bill can protect those most at risk, then do not pass it. If even one person chooses death, not from true autonomy but from quiet pressure, that is one person too many.

19:57

I, too, thank Liam McArthur for the approach that he has taken in engaging with members across the chamber, on both sides of the debate. I do not think that there is anybody better suited—either in temperament or in manner of engagement—to have brought such a sensitive and complex bill to the chamber, and I sincerely thank him for that.

I echo Liz Smith’s comment that this debate, throughout its stages—1, 2 and 3—has been an exceptional demonstration of this Parliament at its best. It is perhaps cheeky of me to say this as I leave this Parliament, and as someone who has been an MSP for 15 years and was in Government for 12 and has never once voted against the whip, but perhaps less whipping in this Parliament might not be a bad thing after all.

In what is likely to be my final speech as an MSP—other members have said this—I cannot think of a more consequential piece of legislation to be speaking to. In 15 years in this Parliament, I, like so many of my colleagues, have cast hundreds, if not thousands, of votes. Day after day, we come to this chamber and, more often than not, we vote as instructed by that slip of paper that is handed to us by our whips. However, today, there is no party line—no whip. Today, every member must be guided not by a slip of paper, but by the weight of their own conscience.

My conscience tells me this: a society that leaves someone with a terminal diagnosis believing that their only options are either to endure intolerable suffering or to end their life prematurely has failed them. I refuse to accept that those are the only two choices available. There must be a third one—one that gives people comfort, relief and, yes, dignity in their death—without sending the message that ending their life is the only option available to them.

As someone who has taken a number of bills through this Parliament—and, dare I say, one or two that have even courted some controversy—I know how carefully we must think about the unintended consequences of legislation, especially legislation such as this bill, which is born of good intentions. Over the years we have corrected bad law, we have amended acts and we have even repealed acts. This bill is different, however. When the unintended consequences are death, there is no correcting it afterwards. No repeal can reverse it, and no secondary legislation can undo it. Death is final.

Even many of the bill’s strongest supporters have had to concede that there is no absolute, cast-iron safeguard against coercion. Coercion is not always loud. It is not always an overt threat. Sometimes it is quieter than that. Sometimes it is a look, a sigh, a hesitation, a sense that you are a burden, a feeling that your family would simply be better off without you. That is what troubles me the most.

That is not to say that those who argue passionately for the right to an assisted death do not have a case; of course they do. We would have to have a heart of stone not to be moved by some of the testimony that we have heard. I know that from personal experience. When my uncle died from pancreatic cancer, aged 54, I washed his body in preparation for his funeral, as is our Islamic custom. He had been a stocky man—5 foot 8 and 13 stone—before his diagnosis. By the time he died, he weighed just 6.5 stone. As I washed him, I could feel his bones protruding through his skin. When he died, I felt grief and heartache, but I also felt relief that he was no longer suffering.

I therefore say this with real empathy for those who are facing terminal illness, pain, fear and loss of dignity. If, in giving a small minority this option, we create a law under which even one person ends their life because they feel guilty, dependent or like a burden, then the Parliament will not have made compassionate law; it will have made dangerous law.

When disabled people’s organisations and domestic abuse organisations and experts warn us, and when those who know what it is like to live with dependency tell us that this law could expose people to pressure that they may never name as coercion, we should not just hear them—we should listen to them.

To colleagues who remain undecided tonight, I simply say this. If you are not absolutely certain that this bill can protect those most at risk, then do not pass it. If even one person chooses death, not from true autonomy but from quiet pressure, that is one person too many.

19:57

I, too, thank Liam McArthur for the approach that he has taken in engaging with members across the chamber, on both sides of the debate. I do not think that there is anybody better suited—either in temperament or in manner of engagement—to have brought such a sensitive and complex bill to the chamber, and I sincerely thank him for that.

I echo Liz Smith’s comment that this debate, throughout its stages—1, 2 and 3—has been an exceptional demonstration of this Parliament at its best. It is perhaps cheeky of me to say this as I leave this Parliament, and as someone who has been an MSP for 15 years and was in Government for 12 and has never once voted against the whip, but perhaps less whipping in this Parliament might not be a bad thing after all.

In what is likely to be my final speech as an MSP—other members have said this—I cannot think of a more consequential piece of legislation to be speaking to. In 15 years in this Parliament, I, like so many of my colleagues, have cast hundreds, if not thousands, of votes. Day after day, we come to this chamber and, more often than not, we vote as instructed by that slip of paper that is handed to us by our whips. However, today, there is no party line—no whip. Today, every member must be guided not by a slip of paper, but by the weight of their own conscience.

My conscience tells me this: a society that leaves someone with a terminal diagnosis believing that their only options are either to endure intolerable suffering or to end their life prematurely has failed them. I refuse to accept that those are the only two choices available. There must be a third one—one that gives people comfort, relief and, yes, dignity in their death—without sending the message that ending their life is the only option available to them.

As someone who has taken a number of bills through this Parliament—and, dare I say, one or two that have even courted some controversy—I know how carefully we must think about the unintended consequences of legislation, especially legislation such as this bill, which is born of good intentions. Over the years we have corrected bad law, we have amended acts and we have even repealed acts. This bill is different, however. When the unintended consequences are death, there is no correcting it afterwards. No repeal can reverse it, and no secondary legislation can undo it. Death is final.

Even many of the bill’s strongest supporters have had to concede that there is no absolute, cast-iron safeguard against coercion. Coercion is not always loud. It is not always an overt threat. Sometimes it is quieter than that. Sometimes it is a look, a sigh, a hesitation, a sense that you are a burden, a feeling that your family would simply be better off without you. That is what troubles me the most.

That is not to say that those who argue passionately for the right to an assisted death do not have a case; of course they do. We would have to have a heart of stone not to be moved by some of the testimony that we have heard. I know that from personal experience. When my uncle died from pancreatic cancer, aged 54, I washed his body in preparation for his funeral, as is our Islamic custom. He had been a stocky man—5 foot 8 and 13 stone—before his diagnosis. By the time he died, he weighed just 6.5 stone. As I washed him, I could feel his bones protruding through his skin. When he died, I felt grief and heartache, but I also felt relief that he was no longer suffering.

I therefore say this with real empathy for those who are facing terminal illness, pain, fear and loss of dignity. If, in giving a small minority this option, we create a law under which even one person ends their life because they feel guilty, dependent or like a burden, then the Parliament will not have made compassionate law; it will have made dangerous law.

When disabled people’s organisations and domestic abuse organisations and experts warn us, and when those who know what it is like to live with dependency tell us that this law could expose people to pressure that they may never name as coercion, we should not just hear them—we should listen to them.

To colleagues who remain undecided tonight, I simply say this. If you are not absolutely certain that this bill can protect those most at risk, then do not pass it. If even one person chooses death, not from true autonomy but from quiet pressure, that is one person too many.

19:57

I, too, thank Liam McArthur for the approach that he has taken in engaging with members across the chamber, on both sides of the debate. I do not think that there is anybody better suited—either in temperament or in manner of engagement—to have brought such a sensitive and complex bill to the chamber, and I sincerely thank him for that.

I echo Liz Smith’s comment that this debate, throughout its stages—1, 2 and 3—has been an exceptional demonstration of this Parliament at its best. It is perhaps cheeky of me to say this as I leave this Parliament, and as someone who has been an MSP for 15 years and was in Government for 12 and has never once voted against the whip, but perhaps less whipping in this Parliament might not be a bad thing after all.

In what is likely to be my final speech as an MSP—other members have said this—I cannot think of a more consequential piece of legislation to be speaking to. In 15 years in this Parliament, I, like so many of my colleagues, have cast hundreds, if not thousands, of votes. Day after day, we come to this chamber and, more often than not, we vote as instructed by that slip of paper that is handed to us by our whips. However, today, there is no party line—no whip. Today, every member must be guided not by a slip of paper, but by the weight of their own conscience.

My conscience tells me this: a society that leaves someone with a terminal diagnosis believing that their only options are either to endure intolerable suffering or to end their life prematurely has failed them. I refuse to accept that those are the only two choices available. There must be a third one—one that gives people comfort, relief and, yes, dignity in their death—without sending the message that ending their life is the only option available to them.

As someone who has taken a number of bills through this Parliament—and, dare I say, one or two that have even courted some controversy—I know how carefully we must think about the unintended consequences of legislation, especially legislation such as this bill, which is born of good intentions. Over the years we have corrected bad law, we have amended acts and we have even repealed acts. This bill is different, however. When the unintended consequences are death, there is no correcting it afterwards. No repeal can reverse it, and no secondary legislation can undo it. Death is final.

Even many of the bill’s strongest supporters have had to concede that there is no absolute, cast-iron safeguard against coercion. Coercion is not always loud. It is not always an overt threat. Sometimes it is quieter than that. Sometimes it is a look, a sigh, a hesitation, a sense that you are a burden, a feeling that your family would simply be better off without you. That is what troubles me the most.

That is not to say that those who argue passionately for the right to an assisted death do not have a case; of course they do. We would have to have a heart of stone not to be moved by some of the testimony that we have heard. I know that from personal experience. When my uncle died from pancreatic cancer, aged 54, I washed his body in preparation for his funeral, as is our Islamic custom. He had been a stocky man—5 foot 8 and 13 stone—before his diagnosis. By the time he died, he weighed just 6.5 stone. As I washed him, I could feel his bones protruding through his skin. When he died, I felt grief and heartache, but I also felt relief that he was no longer suffering.

I therefore say this with real empathy for those who are facing terminal illness, pain, fear and loss of dignity. If, in giving a small minority this option, we create a law under which even one person ends their life because they feel guilty, dependent or like a burden, then the Parliament will not have made compassionate law; it will have made dangerous law.

When disabled people’s organisations and domestic abuse organisations and experts warn us, and when those who know what it is like to live with dependency tell us that this law could expose people to pressure that they may never name as coercion, we should not just hear them—we should listen to them.

To colleagues who remain undecided tonight, I simply say this. If you are not absolutely certain that this bill can protect those most at risk, then do not pass it. If even one person chooses death, not from true autonomy but from quiet pressure, that is one person too many.

19:57

I, too, thank Liam McArthur for the approach that he has taken in engaging with members across the chamber, on both sides of the debate. I do not think that there is anybody better suited—either in temperament or in manner of engagement—to have brought such a sensitive and complex bill to the chamber, and I sincerely thank him for that.

I echo Liz Smith’s comment that this debate, throughout its stages—1, 2 and 3—has been an exceptional demonstration of this Parliament at its best. It is perhaps cheeky of me to say this as I leave this Parliament, and as someone who has been an MSP for 15 years and was in Government for 12 and has never once voted against the whip, but perhaps less whipping in this Parliament might not be a bad thing after all.

In what is likely to be my final speech as an MSP—other members have said this—I cannot think of a more consequential piece of legislation to be speaking to. In 15 years in this Parliament, I, like so many of my colleagues, have cast hundreds, if not thousands, of votes. Day after day, we come to this chamber and, more often than not, we vote as instructed by that slip of paper that is handed to us by our whips. However, today, there is no party line—no whip. Today, every member must be guided not by a slip of paper, but by the weight of their own conscience.

My conscience tells me this: a society that leaves someone with a terminal diagnosis believing that their only options are either to endure intolerable suffering or to end their life prematurely has failed them. I refuse to accept that those are the only two choices available. There must be a third one—one that gives people comfort, relief and, yes, dignity in their death—without sending the message that ending their life is the only option available to them.

As someone who has taken a number of bills through this Parliament—and, dare I say, one or two that have even courted some controversy—I know how carefully we must think about the unintended consequences of legislation, especially legislation such as this bill, which is born of good intentions. Over the years we have corrected bad law, we have amended acts and we have even repealed acts. This bill is different, however. When the unintended consequences are death, there is no correcting it afterwards. No repeal can reverse it, and no secondary legislation can undo it. Death is final.

Even many of the bill’s strongest supporters have had to concede that there is no absolute, cast-iron safeguard against coercion. Coercion is not always loud. It is not always an overt threat. Sometimes it is quieter than that. Sometimes it is a look, a sigh, a hesitation, a sense that you are a burden, a feeling that your family would simply be better off without you. That is what troubles me the most.

That is not to say that those who argue passionately for the right to an assisted death do not have a case; of course they do. We would have to have a heart of stone not to be moved by some of the testimony that we have heard. I know that from personal experience. When my uncle died from pancreatic cancer, aged 54, I washed his body in preparation for his funeral, as is our Islamic custom. He had been a stocky man—5 foot 8 and 13 stone—before his diagnosis. By the time he died, he weighed just 6.5 stone. As I washed him, I could feel his bones protruding through his skin. When he died, I felt grief and heartache, but I also felt relief that he was no longer suffering.

I therefore say this with real empathy for those who are facing terminal illness, pain, fear and loss of dignity. If, in giving a small minority this option, we create a law under which even one person ends their life because they feel guilty, dependent or like a burden, then the Parliament will not have made compassionate law; it will have made dangerous law.

When disabled people’s organisations and domestic abuse organisations and experts warn us, and when those who know what it is like to live with dependency tell us that this law could expose people to pressure that they may never name as coercion, we should not just hear them—we should listen to them.

To colleagues who remain undecided tonight, I simply say this. If you are not absolutely certain that this bill can protect those most at risk, then do not pass it. If even one person chooses death, not from true autonomy but from quiet pressure, that is one person too many.

19:57

I, too, thank Liam McArthur for the approach that he has taken in engaging with members across the chamber, on both sides of the debate. I do not think that there is anybody better suited—either in temperament or in manner of engagement—to have brought such a sensitive and complex bill to the chamber, and I sincerely thank him for that.

I echo Liz Smith’s comment that this debate, throughout its stages—1, 2 and 3—has been an exceptional demonstration of this Parliament at its best. It is perhaps cheeky of me to say this as I leave this Parliament, and as someone who has been an MSP for 15 years and was in Government for 12 and has never once voted against the whip, but perhaps less whipping in this Parliament might not be a bad thing after all.

In what is likely to be my final speech as an MSP—other members have said this—I cannot think of a more consequential piece of legislation to be speaking to. In 15 years in this Parliament, I, like so many of my colleagues, have cast hundreds, if not thousands, of votes. Day after day, we come to this chamber and, more often than not, we vote as instructed by that slip of paper that is handed to us by our whips. However, today, there is no party line—no whip. Today, every member must be guided not by a slip of paper, but by the weight of their own conscience.

My conscience tells me this: a society that leaves someone with a terminal diagnosis believing that their only options are either to endure intolerable suffering or to end their life prematurely has failed them. I refuse to accept that those are the only two choices available. There must be a third one—one that gives people comfort, relief and, yes, dignity in their death—without sending the message that ending their life is the only option available to them.

As someone who has taken a number of bills through this Parliament—and, dare I say, one or two that have even courted some controversy—I know how carefully we must think about the unintended consequences of legislation, especially legislation such as this bill, which is born of good intentions. Over the years we have corrected bad law, we have amended acts and we have even repealed acts. This bill is different, however. When the unintended consequences are death, there is no correcting it afterwards. No repeal can reverse it, and no secondary legislation can undo it. Death is final.

Even many of the bill’s strongest supporters have had to concede that there is no absolute, cast-iron safeguard against coercion. Coercion is not always loud. It is not always an overt threat. Sometimes it is quieter than that. Sometimes it is a look, a sigh, a hesitation, a sense that you are a burden, a feeling that your family would simply be better off without you. That is what troubles me the most.

That is not to say that those who argue passionately for the right to an assisted death do not have a case; of course they do. We would have to have a heart of stone not to be moved by some of the testimony that we have heard. I know that from personal experience. When my uncle died from pancreatic cancer, aged 54, I washed his body in preparation for his funeral, as is our Islamic custom. He had been a stocky man—5 foot 8 and 13 stone—before his diagnosis. By the time he died, he weighed just 6.5 stone. As I washed him, I could feel his bones protruding through his skin. When he died, I felt grief and heartache, but I also felt relief that he was no longer suffering.

I therefore say this with real empathy for those who are facing terminal illness, pain, fear and loss of dignity. If, in giving a small minority this option, we create a law under which even one person ends their life because they feel guilty, dependent or like a burden, then the Parliament will not have made compassionate law; it will have made dangerous law.

When disabled people’s organisations and domestic abuse organisations and experts warn us, and when those who know what it is like to live with dependency tell us that this law could expose people to pressure that they may never name as coercion, we should not just hear them—we should listen to them.

To colleagues who remain undecided tonight, I simply say this. If you are not absolutely certain that this bill can protect those most at risk, then do not pass it. If even one person chooses death, not from true autonomy but from quiet pressure, that is one person too many.

19:57

I, too, thank Liam McArthur for the approach that he has taken in engaging with members across the chamber, on both sides of the debate. I do not think that there is anybody better suited—either in temperament or in manner of engagement—to have brought such a sensitive and complex bill to the chamber, and I sincerely thank him for that.

I echo Liz Smith’s comment that this debate, throughout its stages—1, 2 and 3—has been an exceptional demonstration of this Parliament at its best. It is perhaps cheeky of me to say this as I leave this Parliament, and as someone who has been an MSP for 15 years and was in Government for 12 and has never once voted against the whip, but perhaps less whipping in this Parliament might not be a bad thing after all.

In what is likely to be my final speech as an MSP—other members have said this—I cannot think of a more consequential piece of legislation to be speaking to. In 15 years in this Parliament, I, like so many of my colleagues, have cast hundreds, if not thousands, of votes. Day after day, we come to this chamber and, more often than not, we vote as instructed by that slip of paper that is handed to us by our whips. However, today, there is no party line—no whip. Today, every member must be guided not by a slip of paper, but by the weight of their own conscience.

My conscience tells me this: a society that leaves someone with a terminal diagnosis believing that their only options are either to endure intolerable suffering or to end their life prematurely has failed them. I refuse to accept that those are the only two choices available. There must be a third one—one that gives people comfort, relief and, yes, dignity in their death—without sending the message that ending their life is the only option available to them.

As someone who has taken a number of bills through this Parliament—and, dare I say, one or two that have even courted some controversy—I know how carefully we must think about the unintended consequences of legislation, especially legislation such as this bill, which is born of good intentions. Over the years we have corrected bad law, we have amended acts and we have even repealed acts. This bill is different, however. When the unintended consequences are death, there is no correcting it afterwards. No repeal can reverse it, and no secondary legislation can undo it. Death is final.

Even many of the bill’s strongest supporters have had to concede that there is no absolute, cast-iron safeguard against coercion. Coercion is not always loud. It is not always an overt threat. Sometimes it is quieter than that. Sometimes it is a look, a sigh, a hesitation, a sense that you are a burden, a feeling that your family would simply be better off without you. That is what troubles me the most.

That is not to say that those who argue passionately for the right to an assisted death do not have a case; of course they do. We would have to have a heart of stone not to be moved by some of the testimony that we have heard. I know that from personal experience. When my uncle died from pancreatic cancer, aged 54, I washed his body in preparation for his funeral, as is our Islamic custom. He had been a stocky man—5 foot 8 and 13 stone—before his diagnosis. By the time he died, he weighed just 6.5 stone. As I washed him, I could feel his bones protruding through his skin. When he died, I felt grief and heartache, but I also felt relief that he was no longer suffering.

I therefore say this with real empathy for those who are facing terminal illness, pain, fear and loss of dignity. If, in giving a small minority this option, we create a law under which even one person ends their life because they feel guilty, dependent or like a burden, then the Parliament will not have made compassionate law; it will have made dangerous law.

When disabled people’s organisations and domestic abuse organisations and experts warn us, and when those who know what it is like to live with dependency tell us that this law could expose people to pressure that they may never name as coercion, we should not just hear them—we should listen to them.

To colleagues who remain undecided tonight, I simply say this. If you are not absolutely certain that this bill can protect those most at risk, then do not pass it. If even one person chooses death, not from true autonomy but from quiet pressure, that is one person too many.

19:57

I was pleased to see in yesterday’s budget the significant increase in the Scottish Government’s international development fund, which the cabinet secretary mentioned. I was, however, disappointed—although not altogether surprised—to hear voices of opposition, particularly from the Tory front bench, to helping the world’s most vulnerable, such as those in Malawi.

Does the cabinet secretary agree that, in a world that is riddled with conflict, poverty and climate-related disaster, investment in the world’s poorest speaks to a nation’s character, values and even morality? If so, will she reassure me that she and other ministers will use their offices to urge the United Kingdom Government to reverse its disastrous decision—to cut overseas aid worth billions of pounds—which is directly harming the poorest in the global south?

I thank the minister for that comprehensive response. He references the important health impacts that loneliness can have on an individual. It can quite literally be a killer.

We know that thousands of Scots, including many in our elderly community, in particular, will face the festive period alone. That is why the work of community groups such as the South West Arts and Music Project in my constituency is so vital. From its fun-time Fridays through to Christmas lunches and craft workshops, SWAMP ensures that our elderly know that they are always part of a community.

However, many organisations such as SWAMP face financial challenges. Will the minister acknowledge the important role that the third sector plays in tackling loneliness, the cost of which would otherwise be picked up by the national health service? Will he reflect that in the budget conversations that he is having with the finance secretary in the run-up to the Scottish budget?