Hochul Defies Faith, Pushes Assisted Suicide Law Despite Uproar

Paul Riverbank, 12/18/2025New York legalizes physician-assisted suicide for terminally ill adults, igniting a profound debate over autonomy, compassion, and vulnerability. The law, with strict safeguards, reflects Americans’ evolving struggle to reconcile personal choice with moral and ethical complexities at the end of life.

For decades, this question—whether people confronting death should be able to seek a doctor’s aid—has hovered over hospitals and homes, debated in hushed tones or at statehouse hearings. New York’s law, akin to those in Oregon or California, is not carte blanche. It confines eligibility to adults expected to live six months or less, and demands not just a written request, but a deliberate process with multiple witnesses. Two independent physicians must confirm the diagnosis and prognosis.

Hochul, who grew up in Catholic traditions, made her perspective public in an op-ed that pulled readers into the heartache she’d heard firsthand: “Who am I to deny you or your loved one what they’re begging for at the end of their life?” she wrote. She spoke, too, of compassion and mercy—not as theoretical values, but as forces that shaped her thinking as much as doctrine ever did. It’s impossible to ignore the gravity of the decision, especially for someone whose own faith tradition remains steadfastly opposed.

And opposed it is, vocally so. Cardinal Timothy Dolan and other church leaders in New York reacted in sharp, even pained, terms, calling Hochul’s choice an abandonment of “the most vulnerable citizens.” Their worry echoes an argument as old as the practice: that legalizing assisted suicide risks nudging those who are elderly, sick, or disabled toward despair, particularly in a society where home health care and basic support already stretch thin. There’s always someone—neighbor, advocate, or physician—raising the specter of coercion, of the unseen pressure that can cling to the isolated or unwell.

Disability advocates, too, pressed for tighter safeguards before any bill reached the governor’s desk. Elizabeth McCormick at the Association on Independent Living was blunt: “No amount of safeguards can protect people with disabilities.” Concern about hasty diagnosis or subtle family pressure is not just theoretical; it stems from years spent watching systems fail those unable to advocate for themselves.

To address those objections, sponsors built in a five-day waiting period between written and oral requests, and mandated mental health evaluation for anyone whose capacity might be in question. Only residents of New York are eligible—a pointed response to court rulings elsewhere, which have set clear boundaries for such laws.

Perhaps most notably, the law allows religiously affiliated organizations to step aside. Facilities unwilling to participate on grounds of faith are free to abstain. That concession didn’t satisfy every critic but was seen by supporters as a necessary gesture of respect for pluralism.

The bill’s journey to this point has been anything but swift. After its quiet introduction in 2016, the measure seemed perpetually stalled, revived only after persistent testimony from families, health professionals, and those who’d seen terminal illness strip friends and parents of their dignity. Some spoke in specifics: sunlight through a bedroom window, the recollection of grandkids’ laughter—details that linger in memory, contrasting with the sterile machinery of intensive care.

The U.S. stands far from alone in wrestling with these questions. Canada, Switzerland, Belgium—each found its own framework for regulating assisted death. Within American borders, recent appellate court decisions reinforce that states retain the authority to limit such laws to their own residents, and so the patchwork continues.

For some New Yorkers, Hochul’s action signals overdue recognition of autonomy in the face of mortality, a recasting of “end-of-life care” that’s less about surrender than about reclaiming the little control still possible. For others, it’s a sign that lines once considered inviolable are, perhaps, not so fixed.

Amid the debate, one fact is clear: Policy, faith, and personal experience converge in the most intimate of decisions. The conversation is unlikely to quiet soon; if anything, the lines will blur further as more stories come into the open, each as complex and specific as the life it’s about to close.

New York Governor Kathy Hochul, after years of impassioned debate and quiet lobbying, has pledged to put her signature on the Medical Aid in Dying Act—a move likely to ignite another wave of national conversation about end-of-life options. With this decision, New York will join twelve other states and Washington, D.C., in permitting physicians to assist terminally ill adults who choose to control the terms of their departure.For decades, this question—whether people confronting death should be able to seek a doctor’s aid—has hovered over hospitals and homes, debated in hushed tones or at statehouse hearings. New York’s law, akin to those in Oregon or California, is not carte blanche. It confines eligibility to adults expected to live six months or less, and demands not just a written request, but a deliberate process with multiple witnesses. Two independent physicians must confirm the diagnosis and prognosis.Hochul, who grew up in Catholic traditions, made her perspective public in an op-ed that pulled readers into the heartache she’d heard firsthand: “Who am I to deny you or your loved one what they’re begging for at the end of their life?” she wrote. She spoke, too, of compassion and mercy—not as theoretical values, but as forces that shaped her thinking as much as doctrine ever did. It’s impossible to ignore the gravity of the decision, especially for someone whose own faith tradition remains steadfastly opposed.And opposed it is, vocally so. Cardinal Timothy Dolan and other church leaders in New York reacted in sharp, even pained, terms, calling Hochul’s choice an abandonment of “the most vulnerable citizens.” Their worry echoes an argument as old as the practice: that legalizing assisted suicide risks nudging those who are elderly, sick, or disabled toward despair, particularly in a society where home health care and basic support already stretch thin. There’s always someone—neighbor, advocate, or physician—raising the specter of coercion, of the unseen pressure that can cling to the isolated or unwell.Disability advocates, too, pressed for tighter safeguards before any bill reached the governor’s desk. Elizabeth McCormick at the Association on Independent Living was blunt: “No amount of safeguards can protect people with disabilities.” Concern about hasty diagnosis or subtle family pressure is not just theoretical; it stems from years spent watching systems fail those unable to advocate for themselves.To address those objections, sponsors built in a five-day waiting period between written and oral requests, and mandated mental health evaluation for anyone whose capacity might be in question. Only residents of New York are eligible—a pointed response to court rulings elsewhere, which have set clear boundaries for such laws.Perhaps most notably, the law allows religiously affiliated organizations to step aside. Facilities unwilling to participate on grounds of faith are free to abstain. That concession didn’t satisfy every critic but was seen by supporters as a necessary gesture of respect for pluralism.The bill’s journey to this point has been anything but swift. After its quiet introduction in 2016, the measure seemed perpetually stalled, revived only after persistent testimony from families, health professionals, and those who’d seen terminal illness strip friends and parents of their dignity. Some spoke in specifics: sunlight through a bedroom window, the recollection of grandkids’ laughter—details that linger in memory, contrasting with the sterile machinery of intensive care.The U.S. stands far from alone in wrestling with these questions. Canada, Switzerland, Belgium—each found its own framework for regulating assisted death. Within American borders, recent appellate court decisions reinforce that states retain the authority to limit such laws to their own residents, and so the patchwork continues.For some New Yorkers, Hochul’s action signals overdue recognition of autonomy in the face of mortality, a recasting of “end-of-life care” that’s less about surrender than about reclaiming the little control still possible. For others, it’s a sign that lines once considered inviolable are, perhaps, not so fixed.Amid the debate, one fact is clear: Policy, faith, and personal experience converge in the most intimate of decisions. The conversation is unlikely to quiet soon; if anything, the lines will blur further as more stories come into the open, each as complex and specific as the life it’s about to close.