A 55-year-old acquaintance passed away recently after a long battle with cancer. Why so many people are dying relatively young is a question being raised in several forums, and that debate is best reserved for another day. This individual was kept on a ventilator for nearly five months, after which the doctors and the family finally decided to let go. The cost of keeping a person on life support for such extended periods is enormous. Yet families continue to spend vast sums even when the chances of survival are minimal. Life, we are told, is precious, and nature itself strives to protect and sustain it.
And yet, there are moments when living becomes unbearably painful and stripped of dignity, forcing families and individuals to confront the unthinkable choice of letting go of the very life they are trying to protect.
Euthanasia refers to the act of painlessly ending the life of an animal or a person in order to relieve severe and incurable suffering. It is carried out using controlled methods, usually under medical supervision, with the intention of ensuring a swift and humane death. Such decisions are meant to be taken only in extreme circumstances, following strict legal and medical guidelines, with informed consent from the individual or family members and an oversight mechanism in place.
Globally, however, the practice is expanding in ways that raise serious ethical concerns. Assisted dying now accounts for roughly one in 20 deaths in Canada. Since its legalization in 2016, Canada’s Medical Assistance in Dying (MAiD) programme has expanded rapidly, making it the country’s fourth leading cause of death. Official data from the Government of Canada is available here. Disturbingly, there have been reported cases where individuals who initially requested assisted death later withdrew consent, yet the procedure was carried out nonetheless. Reviews of the MAiD regime have flagged inadequate safeguards and weak oversight, raising fears that vulnerable people may be pressured or improperly assessed.
In India, the legal position is more restrained. Passive euthanasia—withdrawal or withholding of life-sustaining treatment—is permitted under strict Supreme Court guidelines. The Court has recognised the “right to die with dignity” as part of the constitutional Right to Life under Article 21, while maintaining that active euthanasia, involving direct steps to cause death, remains illegal. These guidelines allow terminally ill or permanently unconscious patients to refuse treatment through advance directives or family consent, subject to procedural safeguards and medical boards. The landmark judgment in Common Cause v. Union of India (2018) can be accessed here.
When it comes to animals, euthanasia is far more widely accepted and is often justified as a patient-centred or “pathocentric” approach to relieve suffering. Domesticated animals, especially dogs, are euthanised in cases of terminal illness, extreme pain, or uncontrollable aggression, and sometimes due to the financial constraints of owners. Ethical problems arise, however, when healthy animals are put down or when inhumane methods are used.
This concern becomes especially sharp in the context of India’s stray dog population. A section of society, influenced by fear-mongering around dog bites, appears to believe that mass euthanasia of stray dogs will result in a risk-free environment. Yet ethically and legally, euthanising stray animals is considered acceptable only as a last resort, either to end severe, incurable suffering or in the face of extraordinary public health emergencies. Indian animal welfare laws, including the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Act, do not permit indiscriminate killing.
Recent reports of the killing of hundreds of stray dogs in Telangana have brought this issue into sharp focus. Animal welfare groups allege that the dogs were poisoned or administered lethal injections, bypassing legal and humane protocols. Why are such extreme measures being adopted to address the issue of dog bites? Are stray dogs truly a menace that warrants mass culling?
The numbers invite a sobering comparison. Road traffic accidents caused a documented death toll of 1.72 lakh people in India in 2022, according to the Ministry of Road Transport and Highways. Yet cars are not labelled a “menace,” nor is the solution proposed to ban or destroy all vehicles. The response to risk, it appears, depends on who or what is deemed expendable.
Where, then, are we heading as a society? Are we moving towards a future that disposes of its most vulnerable members in the name of efficiency, safety, or development? Canadian data shows that a disproportionate number of those opting for or subjected to euthanasia are above the age of 70. How far will this logic extend? In India, will the homeless and orphans one day be deemed burdensome and marked for elimination? Will street vendors be next, because “developed” countries do not have them?
Is this the trajectory of development we aspire to—one where only the elite survive, grandparents are quietly put to death, neighbourhood animals are culled, and impoverished children are institutionalised, exploited, or erased, all under the sanitised language of policy and compassion? These are not far-fetched fears. They are ethical questions that demand urgent, collective reflection—before deciding who, next, is considered dispensable.
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