In a case that has sent shivers down the spines of the chattering classes and caused a delightful frisson of horror among the commentariat, a self-styled ‘poison seller’ has admitted to aiding suicides via the murky depths of the dark web. The defendant, whose name has been mercifully obscured by the black veil of legal anonymity, assisted at least 130 people in shuffling off their mortal coils across 28 countries. One can only assume he was operating a sort of Etsy for the eschatologically inclined, complete with bespoke vials and chemical cocktail recommendations.
This ghastly revelation comes courtesy of a joint operation between the National Crime Agency and its international counterparts, who have been busily clamping down on the trade in lethal substances. The UK, bless its stiff upper lip and tendency towards moral panic, is now leading a global crackdown on this macabre marketplace. Because nothing says ‘I’m concerned for your wellbeing’ quite like a state-sponsored blockade on the means of self-annihilation.
The poison seller, who must have missed the memo that the 21st century is all about wellness influencers and avocado toast, allegedly created a website offering everything from advice on how to end it all to the actual delivery of deathly compounds. His clientele, a veritable United Nations of misery, ranged from teenagers to pensioners, all united in their desire to check out early. It is a grim reminder that in an age of abundance, the one thing we still can’t seem to produce enough of is hope.
Now, the establishment is in a tizzy of virtuous outrage. Politicians are demanding tighter regulation, journalists are clucking their tongues with practiced concern, and the usual suspects are calling for a purge of the internet. But let’s not pretend this is a simple story of good versus evil. The defendant’s lawyer, no doubt having to swallow his own moral objections with a large gulp of indignation, argued that his client was merely helping those who had already made their decision. A sort of chemical concierge service for the terminally weary.
The ethical complexities of this case are a veritable Gordian knot of philosophical quagmires. On one hand, you have the sanctity of life, the dignity of the individual, and the utter horror of facilitating the deaths of vulnerable people. On the other hand, you have the fact that the state is now effectively policing the very tools of suicide, a job that smacks of bailing out the Titanic with a teaspoon. The only certainty is that this will be tied up in courts for years, bleeding legal fees and generating enough op-eds to paper the walls of the Home Office.
In the meantime, I propose a toast to the absurdity of it all. Here’s to the poison seller, a man who, by his own admission, dabbled in the darkest of trades. Here’s to the NCA, who will no doubt be patting themselves on the back for this latest victory. And here’s to the rest of us, sitting comfortably in our armchairs, tutting at the moral decay of society while the real poison – the banality of modern life – continues its relentless drip, drip, drip.
