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'My right to euthanasia'

The British MS-sufferer who went to court to try to ensure her husband wouldn't be prosecuted if he

“I was really upset,” said Debbie Purdy after judges in the High Court ruled against her. “Perhaps it was naïve of me, but I was absolutely convinced we were going to win.”

Purdy has Multiple Sclerosis (MS) and plans to go to Switzerland and have a doctor help her die when the pain gets to be unbearable.

She would like her husband to accompany her but is worried that he could face up to 14 years in jail under a law dating from 1961.

Ultimately, if she does not win her case she will go earlier than planned, when she still has the faculties to administer the drugs to herself and won't need to directly involved anyone else.

“We were only asking for clarity, not asking for anything grandiose.”

Now she's been granted leave to take her case to the Court of Appeal.

“It's been surprising how much interest there has been – journalists, neighbours, people on the train - who have come up to me and said, 'my aunt, my uncle, was in the same position'. Even on the train home from London, I met a lady with breast cancer. She said to me, 'I'm really glad you're brave enough to do this. I'm not.'”

“This has refocused my belief in humanity – we don't think only of ourselves. People are more than that – they have compassion and the ability to see others point of view.

“It's incredible, isn't it?”

Ultimately there needs to be a rethink at Parliamentary level but Purdy doubts politicians have the courage to confront this particular issue preferring to leave the battles to the courts.

“The law hasn't been looked at since 1961 – in that time medical, social and cultural advances have been huge,” she points out.

“I think it's cowardice on the part of politicians: they are scared they might lose votes.”

She doesn't think that politicians should influence how she chooses to die. “People should be trusted more to make decisions.”

Not all of her friends agree with the decision that she will eventually make to kill herself when the pain becomes unbearable. “A friend who is very religious and doesn't think it's the right decision said to me after the court case, 'I'm really disappointed for you, because it's your choice.'”

“Even my husband's not 100 per cent certain what he would do if he were in this position. It's a decision he would do everything to stop me making.”

He does however realise the decision isn't his. As Purdy says: “He's not the one who takes pain killers before he gets out of bed in the morning or is lying on the floor, calling to be helped to get up.”

Over 100 British people have travelled to Zurich to die and everybody except one was accompanied by friends or relatives explained Purdy. “Because of the law, it forced terrible decisions. Though no one's been prosecuted yet, one who accompanied someone to Switzerland was investigated for nine months. Somebody will get prosecuted unless we clarify.”

“Because my husband is black and he's foreign, if they're going to prosecute someone, it's going to be him, not some 70-year-old English woman. It's frightening to contemplate – I love him.”

Those who accompany those to die aren't the only ones who face possible persecution. Currently under British law it is illegal for doctors to offer counselling regarding assisted suicide. Purdy wonders, “How can we protect doctors? A doctor's first instinct is compassion.”

Purdy feels that having the ability to have an assisted suicide increases the quality of care. “Hospice care is great but it isn't right for everybody.”

In the US state of Oregon, where assisted suicide has been legal for 10 years, more than 300 people have used it to die. Purdy feels that the quality of care has improved there as “the number of patients dying from too many pain medications (which are often prescribed to those in chronic pain) has gone down.”

Purdy attended a discussion on the topic following the verdict of her case. “Some people suggested that this issue is statistically insignificant,” she said. “They [people who went to die in Switzerland] were vibrant, real people who didn't want their last months to be painful or degrading.

“Some think it's a theoretical, ethical discussion. But this is my life.”

Purdy disagrees with those who don't want to legalise mercy killings because they feel the law protects vulnerable people. Though she is in a wheelchair and has lost the muscular ability to open child proof tops, she doesn't feel that her disability has made her vulnerable. “I fall over on the floor a lot – it's annoying not undignified. That I'm referred to as a victim or vulnerable is undignified.”

“This sounds selfish but this is my life – there's not much I can do about the situation in Democratic Republic of Congo. I need to do what I can to make my life longer – and maybe contribute.”

Purdy says that changing the law would allow people like her who are in chronic pain to live worry-free knowing that they have a way out. “We need a safety net so we can walk on a high wire. If the pain becomes too much and if we are serious, not coerced, then we can ask for help to end our lives.”

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The French millennials marching behind Marine Le Pen

A Front National rally attracts former socialists with manicured beards, and a lesbian couple. 

“In 85 days, Marine will be President of the French Republic!” The 150-strong crowd cheered at the sound of the words. On stage, the speaker, the vice-president of the far-right Front National (FN), Florian Philippot, continued: “We will be told that it’s the apocalypse, by the same banks, media, politicians, who were telling the British that Brexit would be an immediate catastrophe.

"Well, they voted, and it’s not! The British are much better off than we are!” The applause grew louder and louder. 

I was in the medieval city of Metz, in a municipal hall near the banks of the Moselle River, a tributary of the Rhine from which the region takes its name. The German border lies 49km east; Luxembourg City is less than an hour’s drive away. This is the "Country of the Three Borders", equidistant from Strasbourg and Frankfurt, and French, German and French again after various wars. Yet for all that local history is deeply rooted in the wider European history, votes for the Front National rank among the highest nationally, and continue to rise at every poll. 

In rural Moselle, “Marine”, as the Front National leader Marine Le Pen is known, has an envoy. In 2014, the well-spoken, elite-educated Philippot, 35, ran for mayor in Forbach, a former miner’s town near the border. He lost to the Socialist candidate but has visited regularly since. Enough for the locals to call him “Florian".

I grew up in a small town, Saint-Avold, halfway between Metz and Forbach. When my grandfather was working in the then-prosperous coal mines, the Moselle region attracted many foreign workers. Many of my fellow schoolmates bore Italian and Polish surnames. But the last mine closed in 2004, and now, some of the immigrants’ grandchildren are voting for the National Front.

Returning, I can't help but wonder: How did my generation, born with the Maastricht treaty, end up turning to the Eurosceptic, hard right FN?

“We’ve seen what the other political parties do – it’s always the same. We must try something else," said Candice Bertrand, 23, She might not be part of the group asking Philippot for selfies, but she had voted FN at every election, and her family agreed. “My mum was a Communist, then voted for [Nicolas] Sarkozy, and now she votes FN. She’s come a long way.”  The way, it seemed, was political distrust.

Minutes earlier, Philippot had pleaded with the audience to talk to their relatives and neighbours. Bertrand had brought her girlfriend, Lola, whom she was trying to convince to vote FN.  Lola wouldn’t give her surname – her strongly left-wing family would “certainly not” like to know she was there. She herself had never voted.

This infuriated Bertrand. “Women have fought for the right to vote!” she declared. Daily chats with Bertrand and her family had warmed up Lola to voting Le Pen in the first round, although not yet in the second. “I’m scared of a major change,” she confided, looking lost. “It’s a bit too extreme.” Both were too young to remember 2002, when a presidential victory for the then-Front National leader Jean-Marie Le Pen, was only a few percentage points away.

Since then, under the leadership of his daughter, Marine, the FN has broken every record. But in this region, the FN’s success isn’t new. In 2002, when liberal France was shocked to see Le Pen reach the second round of the presidential election, the FN was already sailing in Moselle. Le Pen grabbed 23.7 per cent of the Moselle vote in the first round and 21.9 per cent in the second, compared to 16.9 per cent and 17.8 per cent nationally. 

The far-right vote in Moselle remained higher than the national average before skyrocketing in 2012. By then, the younger, softer-looking Marine had taken over the party. In that year, the FN won an astonishing 24.7 per cent of the Moselle vote, and 17.8 per cent nationwide.

For some people of my generation, the FN has already provided opportunities. With his manicured beard and chic suit, Emilien Noé still looks like the Young Socialist he was between 16 and 18 years old. But looks can be deceiving. “I have been disgusted by the internal politics at the Socialist Party, the lack of respect for the low-ranked campaigners," he told me. So instead, he stood as the FN’s youngest national candidate to become mayor in his village, Gosselming, in 2014. “I entered directly into action," he said. (He lost). Now, at just 21, Noé is the FN’s youth coordinator for Eastern France.

Metz, Creative Commons licence credit Morgaine

Next to him stood Kevin Pfeiffer, 27. He told me he used to believe in the Socialist ideal, too - in 2007, as a 17-year-old, he backed Ségolène Royal against Sarkozy. But he is now a FN local councillor and acts as the party's general co-ordinator in the region. Both Noé and Pfeiffer radiated a quiet self-confidence, the sort that such swift rises induces. They shared a deep respect for the young-achiever-in-chief: Philippot. “We’re young and we know we can have perspectives in this party without being a graduate of l’ENA,” said another activist, Olivier Musci, 24. (The elite school Ecole Nationale d’Administration, or ENA, is considered something of a mandatory finishing school for politicians. It counts Francois Hollande and Jacques Chirac among its alumni. Ironically, Philippot is one, too.)

“Florian” likes to say that the FN scores the highest among the young. “Today’s youth have not grown up in a left-right divide”, he told me when I asked why. “The big topics, for them, were Maastricht, 9/11, the Chinese competition, and now Brexit. They have grown up in a political world structured around two poles: globalism versus patriotism.” Notably, half his speech was dedicated to ridiculing the FN's most probably rival, the maverick centrist Emmanuel Macron. “It is a time of the nations. Macron is the opposite of that," Philippot declared. 

At the rally, the blue, red and white flame, the FN’s historic logo, was nowhere to be seen. Even the words “Front National” had deserted the posters, which were instead plastered with “in the name of the people” slogans beneath Marine’s name and large smile. But everyone wears a blue rose at the buttonhole. “It’s the synthesis between the left’s rose and the right’s blue colour”, Pfeiffer said. “The symbol of the impossible becoming possible.” So, neither left nor right? I ask, echoing Macron’s campaign appeal. “Or both left and right”, Pfeiffer answered with a grin.

This nationwide rebranding follows years of efforts to polish the party’s jackass image, forged by decades of xenophobic, racist and anti-Semitic declarations by Le Pen Sr. His daughter evicted him from the party in 2015.

Still, Le Pen’s main pledges revolve around the same issue her father obsessed over - immigration. The resources spent on "dealing with migrants" will, Le Pen promises, be redirected to address the concerns of "the French people". Unemployment, which has been hovering at 10 per cent for years, is very much one of them. Moselle's damaged job market is a booster for the FN - between 10 and 12 per cent of young people are unemployed.

Yet the two phenomena cannot always rationally be linked. The female FN supporters I met candidly admitted they drove from France to Luxembourg every day for work and, like many locals, often went shopping in Germany. Yet they hoped to see the candidate of “Frexit” enter the Elysee palace in May. “We've never had problems to work in Luxembourg. Why would that change?” asked Bertrand. (Le Pen's “144 campaign pledges” promise frontier workers “special measures” to cross the border once out of the Schengen area, which sounds very much like the concept of the Schengen area itself.)

Grégoire Laloux, 21, studied history at the University of Metz. He didn't believe in the European Union. “Countries have their own interests. There are people, but no European people,” he said. “Marine is different because she defends patriotism, sovereignty, French greatness and French history.” He compared Le Pen to Richelieu, the cardinal who made Louis XIV's absolute monarchy possible:  “She, too, wants to build a modern state.”

French populists are quick to link the country's current problems to immigration, and these FN supporters were no exception. “With 7m poor and unemployed, we can't accept all the world's misery,” Olivier Musci, 24, a grandchild of Polish and Italian immigrants, told me. “Those we welcome must serve the country and be proud to be here.”

Lola echoed this call for more assimilation. “At our shopping centre, everyone speaks Arabic now," she said. "People have spat on us, thrown pebbles at us because we're lesbians. But I'm in my country and I have the right to do what I want.” When I asked if the people who attacked them were migrants, she was not so sure. “Let's say, they weren't white.”

Trump promised to “Make America Great Again”. To where would Le Pen's France return? Would it be sovereign again? White again? French again? Ruled by absolutism again? She has blurred enough lines to seduce voters her father never could – the young, the gay, the left-wingers. At the end of his speech, under the rebranded banners, Philippot invited the audience to sing La Marseillaise with him. And in one voice they did: “To arms citizens! Form your battalions! March, march, let impure blood, water our furrows...” The song is the same as the one I knew growing up. But it seemed to me, this time, a more sinister tune.