autonomy

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A Modicum of Power, Respect, and Autonomy

Within the strictly imposed, purposeful, and artificially manufactured hierarchy of our society, the term ‘power’ consists of numerous meanings. The first definition that most think of is how, in many settings, power is about dominance, control, authority, and oppression. It is a matter of commanding people how to act, what to look like, and where to place one’s body. This is presumably the type of power that most incites the oppressor or the privileged to fear any semblance of gain from oppressed groups, as one’s acquisition of power is identified as something that only happens at the detriment of another’s. It is as though some are terrified that they will be unable to impart shame, terror, disdain, or indifference if those they subject to such tools of oppression and control have enough power to refute their efforts. When someone places themselves wherever they choose, exists in a body that defies social norms, or performs actions that are implicitly or explicitly forbidden without politely carrying the emotional or cognitive burdens for others’ comfort, the power dynamic experiences a significant shift.

Perhaps this view of power, as if it is a finite resource, is why our society so carefully enforces arbitrary rules and prioritizes those who can embody them. One can see this when Roxanne Gay is shouted at by a stranger who feels entitled to comment on her body, when civil rights protesters are subjected to horrific violence for challenging atrocious laws and attitudes, when the demands of disabled protestors to attend the activities of everyday life are ignored, and when incarcerated people are forced into appalling conditions. The same message applies: if we cannot control every aspect of your physical being, we will at least attempt to control our view or knowledge of your presence. 

In parallel, power can be regained by the supposedly powerless in many ways, such as when one reclaims one’s autonomy and refuses to accept, either internally or externally, the disrespect one has been bestowed. What is power, if not the presence of respect? What is power, if not autonomy over oneself, and even over others? Power is in the ability to go on with one’s day without being harassed and criticized; it is in the circumstances that allow one to move about the world freely, without social or physical barriers; and it is wholly anchored in the presumedly simple concept of peacefully living one’s life however one chooses. Why should one not have the opportunity and ability to determine one’s own life as much as possible in one’s circumstances, with as few barriers as possible? One should further ask oneself, why is seeking oppressive power over others normative and incentivized, yet the simple request of wanting to be seen and treated as human is consistently dismissed as grossly idealistic?

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Me Before You: A Tragic Tale of Romance and Assisted Suicide 

When I first watched Me Before You, I felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest. The story follows Louisa “Lou” Clark who becomes the caregiver of Will Traynor, a man who was adventurous before becoming paralyzed after an accident. Will unfortunately faces many challenges both physically and mentally, leading him to choose assisted suicide despite falling in love, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this movie ever since. Recently I started to question, if it was romantic, or was it reinforcing the idea that a disabled life isn’t worth living? After reading Nicole Schroeder’s “Dying a ‘Good’ Death: Disability and the Assisted Suicide Debate” from the Disability Visibility Project, I started to see the story through a completely different lens.

Before I fully dive in, I want to fully paint the picture of this movie. Firstly, Will’s parents hire Lou to care for him after his accident two years in an attempt to raise his spirits. Lou’s unapologetic, positive personality slowly breaks through his bitterness, and they form a deep connection. After finding out he plans to go to Swtizerland for assisted suicide, Lou tries her best to change his mind by trying everything from taking him to concerts and a trip out of the country. But in the end, Will does not change his mind even after falling for Lou. The movie paints his choice as noble as a way of reclaiming control over his life and giving Lou a chance to live hers. The final scene shows Lou reading Will’s farewell letter in Paris, smiling through her tears. It’s meant to be bittersweet, but it also raises difficult questions about what “a good death” really means, and whether society offers disabled people real choices about living.

Nicole Schroeder’s essay completely reframes this debate. She argues that the real issue isn’t about whether people have the right to die, but it’s about why so many disabled people feel they need to. She writes, “those of us protesting do not want people to be in needless pain; instead we want resources other than death to alleviate suffering while people are still alive.” That line stuck with me because it exposes how the conversation around assisted suicide often ignores the failures that lead people to that point: lack of access to care, isolation, and social neglect.

In the film, Will isn’t shown receiving much support beyond Lou’s companionship and his personal caretaker, Nathan. Even with wealth, he seems completely alone in a world not built to include him. Schroeder highlights that in a “hyper-capitalist world,” assisted suicide can become a cheaper alternative to improving care and accessibility. It’s haunting to think about how Will’s decision might have been shaped not by genuine choice, but by a culture that sees disability as tragedy especially after losing the hyper-active life he once had. 

One of Schroeder’s most important points is that assisted suicide is often presented as a form of autonomy, when in reality, many disabled people are making choices under pressure. She shares that in Canada, nearly half of those choosing Medical Assistance in Dying (MAID) cite feeling like a burden or experiencing loneliness. That statistic immediately reminded me of Will telling Lou he didn’t want her to give up her life for him. What sounds selfless in a romantic story becomes more complicated when you realize how society teaches disabled people to internalize guilt for simply existing.

The movie’s emotional framing makes Will’s death feel inevitable, even “beautiful,” but Schroeder challenges that idea. She calls out how assisted suicide has “eugenics-centered roots,” meaning that the very systems allowing it have historically viewed disabled lives as less valuable. When I look back at Me Before You now, I can’t unsee this unfortunate pattern that tangles up love, care, and death into a message that equates disability with hopelessness.

When I first watched Me Before You, I can still remember myself tearing up during the beach scene when Will tells Lou that he is still going to Switzerland after she pours her heart out to him. Me and many fans of this movie are still heartbroken over what could’ve blossomed between Will and Lou. But now, I think the real heartbreak isn’t Will’s death….it’s that the story never gives him another option. Schroeder’s essay reminded me that true dignity doesn’t come from the “freedom” to die; it comes from having the support and resources to live fully. The film romanticizes Will’s choice, but if it reflected the realities Schroeder describes like underfunded care systems, social isolation, and ableist messaging, it might look less like empowerment and more like surrender to a world that failed him.

I still love Me Before You for its intensity and emotional honesty, but I see it differently now. It’s not just a love story; it’s also a mirror of how our society defines whose lives are worth fighting for.