Assisted dying: Triumph for reformers during a historic day in Westminster

This was the single most impressive parliamentary debate we've seen in years.

Photo by James Newcombe on Unsplash

It passed in silence.

Three hundred and thirty votes in favour. Two hundred and seventy five votes against. And then, for what seemed like minutes, the enormity of what had taken place began to sink in. The Speaker looked up. "The Ayes have it," he said. There was none of the cheering or the mockery which you usually see in parliament. There was none of the tribal abuse, none of the laughter and backslapping. MPs had taken the first step towards legalising assisted dying. It would be one of the most important and morally consequential decisions they would ever make.

Somewhere among them was Keir Starmer, who was spotted walking quietly into the Aye lobby. Everything that is happening here is happening because of him.

When he was director of public prosecutions, he changed the guidance to discourage prosecutions against those who helped their loved ones die. He recognised that the law did not work and did what he could to improve it, but it still left a mess. We had de-facto legalised something while forcing it to take place under the shadow of criminality. The only place this issue could really be dealt with was parliament. It needed a political class which would grasp the nettle, which was confident enough to debate issues of supreme moral importance rather than avoid them.

And today, in one of his first major acts as prime minister, that is precisely what Starmer did. He put aside the time. He made this vote take place. "Keir wanted it to happen," a baffled Labour staffer told the Guardian. "It’s that simple. There isn't anyone else who thought this was a particularly great thing to do in the first months of a Labour government."

Over the last few months the Labour leader has maintained total silence, as his Cabinet secretaries went to war around him - particularly if they opposed it. Health secretary Wes Steeting issued urgent warnings about palliative care. Justice secretary Shabana Mahmood spoke about "death on demand". But Starmer showed a dignified restraint. He did not signal to his MPs to vote in his direction, as he could have. He did not publicly kick back against Streeting. Instead, he demonstrated composure, responsibility, and gravity of purpose. And then he walked silently down the Aye lobby and voted for what he believed in. He is a quiet and unfussy man. Journalists and politicians simply cannot get the measure of him. But look at the things he does in his quiet and unfussy way.

The standards of the Commons were elevated today. It was the single most impressive parliamentary debate we have seen in years. You can read a full blow-by-blow account here.

One after another, MPs stood up to give their appraisal of what had taken place. They did so without the threats and bribes of the whips, without the lines-to-take telling them what to say, without the official and unofficial support networks in Westminster which turn politicians into pack animals. They did so on the basis of their moral judgement and their assessment of their own life experience.

Many of them did it while holding back tears. Their voice would break, they would pause, gather themselves, press ahead, raise their concerns about a particular clause or a specific bit of wording. They would remember their child in hospital, their sister, their parent. They would describe what happened to them. And sometimes you could see that they were in two places at one time. The Chamber sat before them, bright and loud and extremely present, but then their eyes would flicker off to the side and they were in that ward again, within those grey walls again, holding someone's hand, hoping for it to be brief and painless, wishing desperately for a kindness which the universe does not always provide.

One after another, I saw MPs who I had not previously admired give some of the best parliamentary speeches I have ever seen. "The deathbed for far too many is a source of misery, torture and degradation," Tory MP Kit Malthouse said. "A reign of blood and vomit and tears. I see no compassion and beauty in that, only profound human suffering." He spoke of a man who had been reduced to committing suicide by walking in front of a train. He had waited until 2am so he could minimise the interference to commuters. For some reason I found this act so affecting I was temporarily overcome with emotion.

Liberal Democrat Layla Moran turned on Streeting specifically, forcing him to acknowledge the unofficial role of official opposition he had seemingly adopted. "I say to the secretary of state: the gauntlet has been thrown down," she said, fixing him in her gaze as he looked warily back at her, suddenly uncomfortable with his position. "If he wants someone like me not to vote for this bill... put firm commitments on palliative care on the table". Labour Meg Hillier spoke about her daughter in hospital. "I hope she forgives me for raising her personal situation in this House today," she said, her voice finally breaking. Fellow Labour MP Peter Prinsley said simply: "When I was a young doctor I thought it unconscionable. But now I am an old doctor, and I feel sure it's the right change."

But perhaps the most astonishing speech of all came from Kieran Mullan, shadow transport secretary. What was he at that moment? It was unclear. The whole idea of a free vote is so alien to Westminster that we don't really have a definition of the role he was inhabiting. Someone had to sum up for the opposition and it fell to him. But the opposition had no fixed view, so instead he decided to lay out for MPs the basic contest of priorities they faced. It was the best speech I have seen from Conservative frontbencher for a very long time. It was a speech that rejected the false binary of party politics and addressed the world as it really is.

He began by laying out the consequences of a vote against the bill.

"Access to assisted dying could reduce suffering for the terminally ill. That is a choice some people would like to have. Some people would make that choice without any undue pressure. If you vote against this bill today, they won't have that choice. I caution against avoiding facing up to that hard moral reality by arguing that whatever people may fear about dying can always be managed by modern medicine. For all it can achieve, modern medicine cannot achieve everything."

Then he laid out the consequences of voting for the bill.

"I don't think opponents of this bill can deny this any more than proponents of this bill can deny that if this law is passed it would represent the crossing of a significant legal, societal and moral Rubicon. Every other expectation we have of the state is to have it extend and protect life. We would instead be asking the state to procure the medicines, provide the staff, and sign off in the courts a process that is designed to lead, and will, to someone's death."

We could not have been further removed from the traditional culture of the House of Commons. Usually, it is a place of mass infantalisation. The government's majority means a bill will pass, no matter what anyone says. An opposition amendment will fail, no matter how constructive it is. MPs usually have no idea what it is they are voting on, they will simply do as they're told by the whips. Frontbenchers make speeches which they know to be absurd, laying out modest proposals as the answer to all our problems and casting criticism of them as an apocalyptic attack on the British people.

This culture turns politicians into angry children. They cannot improve legislation, so they don't bother trying. They simply stand on their soapbox and shout about what bastards the other side are. They cannot work with those on the other side, so they demonise them. They cannot admit that an idea is flawed, or beneficial, or both, so they reduce the world to black and white. They cease to operate with anything even approaching moral seriousness.

Today, a new generation of MPs tasted another, better way of doing things. And who knows? When the Commons returns to its usual empty shouting match next week, they might ask themselves why it can't be more like this in future. Perhaps even years from now they will remember this day and think of it as an inspiration for how things might commonly be.

High hopes, perhaps. Probably naive. But why shouldn't we aim for better things, when MPs show us they're capable of them?

Odds and Sods

I watched Conclave this week - a searing, hilarious, impeccably acted drama set in the election for the new pope. I really can’t recommend it highly enough. Fiennes is preposterously good and the sound design is the best I’ve heard this year. A really accomplished piece of work. Any political nerd will devour it.

Also, Dorian Lynsky and I are at Kingston Waterstones for their Christmas evening tonight. Come say hello if you live nearby.