The Guardian has again published Chris Woodhead’s preference for throwing himself off a cliff when his multiple sclerosis becomes too far advanced rather than going to Dignitas in Switzerland and talking to ‘bearded social workers’ (originally quoted also in the Guardian as ‘a bearded social worker’). He, you will remember, was the long-serving school chief inspector a few years ago. I’m sorry he has this debilitating and horrible illness, and I understand why he feels like this, as our medical and nursing colleagues have been so successful in maintaining the lives of people with very severe disabilities that it does make people in his position think that they’re not sure they want to go the whole way. It’s good that he its still achieving things with his life (all this is about plugging a book) as a result of their success and also the care he is getting from his wife and probably lots of other people. I wonder what all of those carers think about the expressed intention and the part that they will probably have to play in his achieving it – who’s going to be driving him to the top of the cliff? Intended suicide does not only affect the person who does it.

But what are we to think of the ‘bearded social worker’ stuff? One thing a guy with Chris’s experience should know is that most social workers are women, and that only some of the few men are bearded (I speak as a resolutely non-bearded social worker).

The Times has a more extensive quote:
“The truth is that I would be more likely to drive myself in a wheel-chair off a cliff in Cornwall than go to Dignitas and speak to a bearded social worker about my future.”

A bearded social worker? “I know from watching the recent documentary about Dignitas on Channel 4 that, although the doctor responsible for Dignitas doesn’t attend the actual suicide, a representative of the organisation does go along. In the documentary this representative was a bearded chap, a social worker type. He didn’t administer the injection: you have to do that yourself or drink a lethal mixture – which is problematic in terms of timing for MND patients – but he was there to help look after you.

“This bloke, it was reported, had once sung Beatles songs on such an occasion. Well, I’m sorry, but that’s not my idea of a final rave.”

It’s good to know that The Times actually queried the point; a pity that the Guardian didn’t or at least didn’t print the query.

Well, I would not want Beatles songs sung at my dying either, but I might like some favourite music, and the point in the documentary was presumably that you had some choice about how it was to be. Many people at St Christopher’s who know they are dying choose to have their favourite music playing; music is important to me, I would be playing lots of music in any period of illness and, if I can, approaching my death. I also regularly review the music I want at my funeral. My wife, who thinks funerals are for the people left behind, goes with this, but she and others will decide on the rest, because I don’t really care what they say and do; it’s the music that’s important to me.

But what we have here is not a comment about social workers per se but a comment about a type; this seems the point to query. The context shows that Woodhead does not think much of the things social workers do, and associates them with beards.

Is it the helping other people he’s against? He’s free not to seek personal help, but this political or philosophical position that nobody should need or want help is a poisonous stance inappropriate in any society; the whole point about a society is that we should help and support one another, particularly at the worst times of life. And also, from watching the same documentary, I know that one of the jobs of the Dignitas man who attends is to ensure that the organisation does it in a way that complies with Swiss law. Helping people through a difficult time and making sure they do it without transgressing the law or appropriate processes is not an unreasonable task to be done in life. Social workers have this role in all sorts of situations, and thinking people know that these are roles that each society needs to provide for. You could wish that, even suffering the emotional fallout of having an extremely unpleasant illness, a leading professional in a related field could have been more thoughtful in the way he expressed his position; it reveals a routinised prejudice that demeans him and that he should not propagate in public. We should all be thoughtful and respectful about what we say.

But what’s wrong with beards? Viewers of The Apprentice see Sir Alan Sugar and his beard. Does that make him a dependency-creating helping hippy? One of our doctors wears a beard – is it inappropriate for a professional? You may recollect that in the early days of new Labour at one time it was said, I don’t know with what truth, that Blair told senior people to get rid of their beards, because it was not consistent with 21st century zeitgeist; this is said to be why Mandelson debearded himself and Frank Dobson was applauded by some because he didn’t and came across in a fatherly way. I think this tells us that beards, indeed all aspects of personal appearance, are OK for some people and not for others and do reflect their personality and role.

But health and social care professionals are not into political spin. One of our groups of bereaved carers recently had a discussion about what professionals should wear; one of them said that all that should be necessary was that people were clean and tidy, while others clearly thought that a reasonable degree of traditional smartness was required. We’re all familiar with the way junior doctors seem to need to carry their stethoscopes round their necks while senior doctors don’t. Do only the juniors do the listening or is it a public presentation of role and do neither really need the stethoscope permanently at the ready? As a nurse said to me recently, they’re probably carrying more infection round on those things than on their hands that they clean so assiduously all the time. Does the beard mean that we’re not really professionals? Or does it mean that, whatever profession we are members of, we’re too kindly for people with the attack dog reputation (quite possibly unjustified, although perhaps rather enjoyed) of people like Chris Woodhead?

So the beardy comment is against kindness and helping in society. I’m for kindness and helping, especially in health and social care, and I think Chris Woodhead should be for it too.