Hochul Accused of ‘Abandoning’ Vulnerable as She Greenlights Assisted Suicide Law

Paul Riverbank, 12/18/2025New York’s forthcoming Medical Aid in Dying Act ignites emotional debate, balancing compassionate end-of-life choices for terminal patients with deep concerns over safeguards, dignity, and the vulnerable—reflecting the broader national dialogue on autonomy, ethics, and care.

Strict conditions underpin the measure: Only those with less than six months to live, confirmed by two separate physicians, will gain access to this choice. The process isn’t swift. Patients must take the deliberate step of making a written request, then give a verbal confirmation, and then wait at least five days—perhaps the hardest wait of all. Two individuals must attest as witnesses, another guardrail meant to shield against coercion. A mental health professional—either a licensed psychiatrist or psychologist—will evaluate the patient, helping ensure the request comes from a place of clear intention rather than undue pressure or untreated depression.

Hochul’s support is notable not just for her position but for her background—a lifelong Catholic, she comes to the issue shaped by her mother’s losing battle with ALS. Her recollection of those final, wrenching months isn’t just personal anecdote; it’s central to her rationale. “Who am I to deny you or your loved one what they’re begging for at the end of their life?” she asked, in a letter that referenced memories of hospital corridors and wan sunlight, of grief mingled with helplessness.

For advocates, this law is akin to other major expansions of individual rights—a means of offering dignity and self-determination at the most vulnerable time. The intention isn’t to rush death, some argue, but to end dying—the protracted, painful unwinding at the end. Instead of bleak hospital rooms, they envision farewells in familiar bedrooms, laughter from loved ones in the next room, final scenes painted with warmth rather than sterile suffering.

Opposition, however, surfaced almost immediately, and from unexpected corners. Cardinal Timothy Dolan, joined by other faith leaders, described the measure as the abandonment of society’s most vulnerable. It’s a concern mirrored across advocacy groups, from both sides of the political aisle and especially from disability rights organizations. Critics worry about people who, lost in the cracks of overstretched home care systems, might see this law not as liberation but as quiet pressure—a consequence of poor societal support masquerading as choice. Elizabeth McCormick, whose days are spent fighting for people with disabilities, voiced deep distrust: “When people can’t get basic care and feel they have no alternatives, that’s not really a choice at all.”

The legislation stacks up more layers of oversight than any law of its kind elsewhere in the United States. It bars out-of-state applicants and allows religious hospitals to opt out entirely. Yet for opponents, guarantees are theoretical if the realities of care and mental health go unresolved.

Oregon broke ground first, passing such a law nearly three decades ago. Since then, a slow string of states has followed suit, with New York soon to join as the thirteenth—Illinois and Delaware also adopting similar frameworks this year.

Political pushback followed predictably, particularly from Republican leaders like State GOP chairman Ed Cox. He called the law a “profound moral failure,” arguing it sends the message to those struggling with loneliness or despair that their lives matter less. “This is not compassion, it’s abandonment,” Cox asserted, joining others who fear that the burden of this policy will fall hardest not on the well-connected, but on those with the fewest resources.

If Hochul, as promised, signs the bill in January 2026, New York’s rules will take effect six months later. By then, the state will have to reckon with two tall challenges: whether these guardrails can truly protect the vulnerable, and whether, for the dying, the promise of choice delivers comfort not just in law but in lived experience. The conversation—pained, contentious, and desperately human—shows little sign of quieting any time soon.

For many in New York grappling with the end of life, a profound shift may soon arrive. The state’s new Medical Aid in Dying Act, which Governor Kathy Hochul has pledged to sign early next year, marks both the end of a long debate and the start of a complex moral reckoning. After years in legislative limbo, New Yorkers facing terminal diagnoses might finally find themselves with a measure of agency not available until now.Strict conditions underpin the measure: Only those with less than six months to live, confirmed by two separate physicians, will gain access to this choice. The process isn’t swift. Patients must take the deliberate step of making a written request, then give a verbal confirmation, and then wait at least five days—perhaps the hardest wait of all. Two individuals must attest as witnesses, another guardrail meant to shield against coercion. A mental health professional—either a licensed psychiatrist or psychologist—will evaluate the patient, helping ensure the request comes from a place of clear intention rather than undue pressure or untreated depression.Hochul’s support is notable not just for her position but for her background—a lifelong Catholic, she comes to the issue shaped by her mother’s losing battle with ALS. Her recollection of those final, wrenching months isn’t just personal anecdote; it’s central to her rationale. “Who am I to deny you or your loved one what they’re begging for at the end of their life?” she asked, in a letter that referenced memories of hospital corridors and wan sunlight, of grief mingled with helplessness.For advocates, this law is akin to other major expansions of individual rights—a means of offering dignity and self-determination at the most vulnerable time. The intention isn’t to rush death, some argue, but to end dying—the protracted, painful unwinding at the end. Instead of bleak hospital rooms, they envision farewells in familiar bedrooms, laughter from loved ones in the next room, final scenes painted with warmth rather than sterile suffering.Opposition, however, surfaced almost immediately, and from unexpected corners. Cardinal Timothy Dolan, joined by other faith leaders, described the measure as the abandonment of society’s most vulnerable. It’s a concern mirrored across advocacy groups, from both sides of the political aisle and especially from disability rights organizations. Critics worry about people who, lost in the cracks of overstretched home care systems, might see this law not as liberation but as quiet pressure—a consequence of poor societal support masquerading as choice. Elizabeth McCormick, whose days are spent fighting for people with disabilities, voiced deep distrust: “When people can’t get basic care and feel they have no alternatives, that’s not really a choice at all.”The legislation stacks up more layers of oversight than any law of its kind elsewhere in the United States. It bars out-of-state applicants and allows religious hospitals to opt out entirely. Yet for opponents, guarantees are theoretical if the realities of care and mental health go unresolved.Oregon broke ground first, passing such a law nearly three decades ago. Since then, a slow string of states has followed suit, with New York soon to join as the thirteenth—Illinois and Delaware also adopting similar frameworks this year.Political pushback followed predictably, particularly from Republican leaders like State GOP chairman Ed Cox. He called the law a “profound moral failure,” arguing it sends the message to those struggling with loneliness or despair that their lives matter less. “This is not compassion, it’s abandonment,” Cox asserted, joining others who fear that the burden of this policy will fall hardest not on the well-connected, but on those with the fewest resources.If Hochul, as promised, signs the bill in January 2026, New York’s rules will take effect six months later. By then, the state will have to reckon with two tall challenges: whether these guardrails can truly protect the vulnerable, and whether, for the dying, the promise of choice delivers comfort not just in law but in lived experience. The conversation—pained, contentious, and desperately human—shows little sign of quieting any time soon.