Mercy's Friend or Foe?

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For one thing, Kevorkian has made clear his intention to work outside the law. When a Michigan judge dismissed murder charges against him but advised him against continuing his crusade, Kevorkian replied that he would never shirk his "medical duty. If my colleagues won't work with me, I will work alone." In 1988 Kevorkian suggested to founder Derek Humphry that the Hemlock Society, which supports euthanasia for the terminally ill, join forces with him and set up a suicide center. Humphry's response was "We're not lawbreakers, we're law reformers." But he recalls that Kevorkian insisted that such a center would get them publicity. "There are many people in the Hemlock Society who admire him," says Humphry. "My reservations are that he never talks about changing the law, and doctors won't follow him until the law is changed."

Even passionate supporters of euthanasia argue that there must always be safeguards -- second opinions from disinterested doctors, psychological evaluations, family consultations -- before any decision is made. Though Kevorkian is adamant about the precautions he takes, his enthusiasm for testing new techniques and promoting his cause has naturally raised concerns about his neutrality in counseling potential clients. A pathologist by training, he is not in the best position to make a judgment about patients when they are still alive.

The law rushed to Governor John Engler's desk last week, which would temporarily ban physician-assisted suicide until a commission can make a recommendation, is aimed directly at Kevorkian. But the doctor says it makes no difference to him if Michigan's elected representatives turn him into an outlaw. "He has told me that even if this does become a law, he would violate it," says Fieger. The problem is that once zealots claim the right to choose which laws they'll obey, all the underlying trust that permits professionals, and especially doctors, to function disappears.

Then there is the discomfiting pattern that, though men are three times as likely as women to commit suicide, so far all of Dr. Kevorkian's suicide patients have been female. It's not that he has any special fondness for watching women die, but rather, he has explained, because "women are just far more realistic about facing death and have got the guts to do it." Kevorkian considers his treatment a form of toughlove. He recalls his first client, ^ Janet Adkins, a vibrant 54-year-old just diagnosed with Alzheimer's who sought out Kevorkian because she was terrified of what the disease would do to her. "I loved that woman," he told the Washington Post. "And what I had to do was tough."

That doesn't satisfy his critics particularly. "He's more like a serial killer than a physician," says Professor George Annas of Boston University's school of medicine. There is already some evidence that Kevorkian's relentless grandstanding is raising alarms among euthanasia supporters. Last year the State of Washington debated Initiative 119, which would have allowed physician-assisted suicide. In early October the measure was heavily favored. Two weeks later, Kevorkian helped his second and third clients, both chronically but not terminally ill, to kill themselves. The ammunition he provided euthanasia opponents may well have helped defeat the measure in November.