Inside the Salt Spring Forum

A Conversation on MAiD, A Divided Audience, and an Unexpected Personal Reckoning

A Forum on MAiD

As I take my seat in the back row of the modest hall—folding chairs arranged neatly before the stage—I scan the crowd of approximately 100 attendees. The demographic is strikingly homogenous: older, white, and, as the evening will reveal, overwhelmingly in favour of MAiD.

Prior to the event, I wrote to the Forum’s organizers, questioning their decision to host a speaker whose stance on MAiD is not just supportive but actively expansionist. I outline my concerns about the event’s lack of balanced representation, highlighting my personal stake in the matter: my mother, Donna Duncan, died through MAiD under questionable circumstances, leading to the first police investigation into a MAiD-related death in Canada. That investigation was ultimately closed when health authorities refused to release key assessment records.

My letter asks whether the Forum has taken steps to ensure a diversity of perspectives, whether a moderator will challenge Dr. Wiebe’s views, and whether issues of oversight and legal accountability will be discussed. Their response is brief, almost dismissive:

“We don’t allow speeches, but instead have 90-minute Q&As where the opinions of our guests can be questioned, even challenged. Our audiences are highly educated and perfectly capable of forming their own opinions.”

And so I decided to attend.

An Uneven Stage

Dr. Wiebe sits on stage alongside a mediator who, in his introduction, clearly states his pro-MAiD stance. There is no counterbalance—no ethicist, legal expert, or medical professional to offer a different perspective. The audience, comfortable and expectant, seems more interested in reaffirming their views than in engaging in true debate.

As Dr. Wiebe begins speaking, she adopts a casual, almost lighthearted tone. She jokes about spouses who “don’t want to let go” and recounts her first MAiD case, in which she had to practice administering an IV because she was out of practice. The audience chuckles along with her anecdotes. When discussing the resistance of some palliative care providers to integrating MAiD, she rolls her eyes. The gravity of what is being discussed—the intentional ending of human lives—is glossed over with unsettling ease.

An Unexpected Reaction

I have spoken at the highest levels of government. I have participated in documentaries, podcasts, and public forums about MAiD. And yet, as I stand to ask my question, something unexpected happens. My body betrays me. My heart pounds, my skin dampens with sweat, and a wave of nausea rolls over me. I have spent years advocating for transparency and accountability in the MAiD process, yet this is the first time I have been in a room with a provider. My reaction is visceral—a reminder of the trauma that still lives within me. I was diagnosed with PTSD after my mother’s passing, and at this moment, I feel its grip tightening around me.

I steady myself and address Dr. Wiebe directly.

“In a recent New York Times interview, you denied ever regretting a MAiD provision. Yet in October 2024, a BC judge halted the assisted death of an Alberta woman after you approved it, despite multiple Alberta doctors denying her request. In December 2022, a man received MAiD while on a day pass from a psychiatric unit. His family alleges his death was unlawful and has filed a lawsuit naming you and your clinic. Given that a court intervened to stop a MAiD death and legal action has been taken against you, do you still stand by your claim?”

She laughs.

“Did I actually say that?”

Her response is offhand. She brushes aside the cases, saying,

“I wasn’t allowed to defend myself then, and I’m not going to do that here today either.”

The audience erupts into applause.

A Chilling Exchange

Next, my friend and fellow advocate, Kelsi Sheren, poses a question about the lack of clinical studies on the drug combinations used in MAiD. She cites research showing that up to 0.2% of patients experience intraoperative awareness while fully paralyzed—meaning that 60 to 120 Canadians may have been conscious and unable to communicate distress during their deaths.

Dr. Wiebe’s initial response is startling:

“I can’t guarantee a peaceful death.”

Then she pivots, describing the dosages used and doubling down on the necessity of paralytics to ensure a smooth process. This contradiction is too glaring to ignore.

I interject:

“But they are paralyzed, so you wouldn’t know.”

The audience boos me.

I turn to face them.

“Shame on you all for booing me,” I say, my voice steady despite the lump in my throat. “My mother died by MAiD. She could have been one of those 60 to 120 people.”

The room falls silent. Dr. Wiebe continues, unfazed, assuring the crowd that the deaths she provides are peaceful. The audience applauds once more.

In a particularly striking moment, a retired veterinarian stands up to compare human MAiD to animal euthanasia, saying that death in animals is almost instantaneous. Dr. Wiebe responds with a clinical detachment that chills me:

“The drugs we use for animals are more effective, but they aren’t approved for humans. In people, death takes about three minutes.”

Three minutes. I bite my tongue, knowing that, in some cases, it takes over 100 hours.

The discussion lasts about 90 minutes, during which I listen to one-sided rhetoric and claims I know to be false. Audience members then stand up to praise Ellen and her work. I feel like I’m watching followers in a cult worship their leader. It’s eerie, and I feel nauseous.

The Forum Ends, But the Conversation Continues

As the event concludes, the room empties out. A few attendees approach me—not to argue, but to listen. A former McGill anthropology professor, a local funeral director who shares that her funeral home has seen over 50 MAiD deaths, and a handful of others linger to discuss what has just unfolded. The forum organizers and mediator approach me to apologize for the audience’s reaction. We speak briefly about our mutual pursuit of truth.

Final Thoughts

This event was not a discussion; it was a reinforcement of belief. There was no real attempt to address the ethical concerns, legal challenges, or mounting evidence that MAiD’s expansion has outpaced proper oversight. The audience was comfortable in their convictions, buoyed by laughter and applause, while those who raised difficult questions were met with derision.

I leave Salt Spring Island with a heavy heart but a renewed sense of purpose. Transparency in the MAiD process is not just a policy issue—it is a moral imperative. Despite the jeers and dismissive laughter, I will keep asking the hard questions.

Because the lives lost to this system deserve more than an easy answer and a round of applause.