Hazel McHaffie

torture

When children vanish …

It’s hard to imagine anything more devastating than a child being abducted, not knowing where they are, if they are even alive. Didn’t we all shudder in our beds when Madeleine McCann vanished while on holiday in Portugal back in 2007? Imagining … Fearing … Would you ever stop searching every face, every place?

But … imagine finding out that your kidnapped child has been systematically abused, tortured, degraded … Doesn’t bear thinking about, does it? I could only approach this topic from the safe distance of a writer’s analytical perspective. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have the courage to let myself creep inside the head of such a parent in order to write from their point of view, so I’m intrigued by authors who do dare such a thing.

SB Caves is one such.

In his debut publication, I know Where She Is, Francine Cooper’s daughter Autumn has been missing for ten years. Francine has been bombarded with crank calls and cruel bogus contacts, and has eventually moved house to escape, putting herself beyond the reach of all except her ex-husband and work colleagues. Or so she hoped. Then, out of the blue, she gets an anonymous note containing just five words ‘scrawled in jagged chicken scratch’: I KNOW WHERE SHE IS. She’s ready to dismiss it as yet another cruel hoax by a twisted mind, a sick creep who gets a thrill out of torturing vulnerable people. But then a young girl appears, encrusted in dirt, stinking, claiming to have sent it, and knowing things that only Autumn would know – a favourite lullaby, family names, a photo.

If you thought entering the world of Francine’s grief would be harrowing, you might well baulk at the prospect of hearing the full horror of what this ragamuffin child has to tell her. Behind the expansive opulence of wildly expensive mansions and gated communities and celebrity adulation, the truth is laden with such depths of human depravity it’s nauseating to read, never mind consider possible.

Without delivering spoilers, it’s fair to say this shocking tale falls somewhere between the reality of Jimmy Savile‘s reign of terror and the dystopian horrors of the Republic of Gilead in The Handmaid’s Tale And the ending leaves so many questions unanswered. Definitely not a book for the faint-hearted or insomniacs. And not a scenario I’ll be including in any of my own books, I’m quite sure of that.

, , , , , , , ,

Comments

Starving to death in Britain

She was a political activist from her teen years. But Debbie Purdy rose to fame when from her wheelchair she pleaded for – and won – clarity on assisted dying in 2009. Her memorable comment: “Being allowed to die would help me to live” summed up her thinking. She loved life, even with its significant difficulties, but the current law was leading her towards deliberately ending that life sooner than she would choose. Sad then that in reality, her end was a far cry from the dignified autonomous finale that she fought for in the courts.

She actually died on 23 December, before my last two posts went out, but it didn’t seem an appropriate note for Christmas time or Hogmanay, so I postponed it till today.

Debbie Purdy diesDebbie was only 31 when she was diagnosed with primary progressive multiple sclerosis. 31. She was 51 when she eventually died. 20 years of living with a severely disabling painful disease – outlined in her 2010 autobiography, It’s Not Because I Want to Die. When she appeared before journalists and the public she made no secret of her personal wish to go to Switzerland to die when life became unbearable; all she wanted was assurance that her Cuban husband, Omar Puente, (black, foreign and poor, so, she feared, particularly vulnerable) would not be prosecuted if he assisted her to get there. Her jubilant face when the House of Lords gave that reassurance lives in the memory. Assisted dying wasn’t yet legal but she could now live her life to the full and she was in no hurry to go.

But, when that point of unbearable suffering came, she could not afford the journey to Switzerland. Instead she went into a hospice, where she ended her life peacefully … no, starved herself to death. It took a whole year! How can this possibly be right? Even a few days before her death she was filmed saying if a cure became available she would be first in the queue for it, such was her wish to live. But not at all costs: “It’s not a matter of wanting to end my life. It’s a matter of not wanting my life to be this.” Harrowing to see her emaciated frame, hear her reluctance, feel her fear – you can watch it here if you can bear to. I can’t begin to imagine what it must have been like for her relatives and friends, and indeed those caring for her, to watch her deteriorate in this horrible way. Nor the courage and determination on her part to stick to her resolve for that long.

Advocates of a change in the law have capitalised on this story, drawing attention to statistics which seem to point inexorably in their minds to change: 60-70% of the public want it; legal and ethical opinion has swung in favour of it; two terminally ill people a month go to Switzerland to end their lives; ten times that number kill themselves secretly at home; to name but a few figures. It’s only religious zealots and medical authoritarianism that are holding us back, they claim; surely the best tribute to this indomitable campaigner would be to legalise assisted dying.

I’ve stated my own opinion elsewhere on this blog; I won’t rehearse it again here. Suffice to say I have my own reservations, my own tentative solution. But the very fact that, in this 21st century, in our affluent and democratic country, after two decades of mental and physical agony, a young woman took a year to die from starvation, must surely give every one of us pause for thought. What’s your definition of torture?

If not an assisted dying bill, what? In a decent civilised society we cannot stand back and allow such scenarios to be reenacted.

 

 

, , , , , , , , , ,

Comments