Baril - 2023 - Suicidism A Theoretical Framework For Conceptualizing Suicide

Temple University Press
Chapter Title: SUICIDISM: A Theoretical Framework for Conceptualizing Suicide
Book Title: Undoing Suicidism

Book Subtitle: A Trans, Queer, Crip Approach to Rethinking (Assisted) Suicide
Book Author(s): ALEXANDRE BARIL
Published by: Temple University Press. (2023)
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PART I
R ET HI N K I NG SU ICIDE
CH APTER 1
SU ICIDISM
A Theoretical Framework for

Conceptualizing Suicide
Sometimes I worry that’s what people around me would do if I

were honest with someone [ . . . ] about this lack of attachment
to life and the sometimes-desire to be rid of it. After they know
my default state, will I be self-conscious? Will I regret it? Will
they ever forget it, or will it shadow my every move and our every
conversation? Will they become too aware, watch me too closely?
But then I think: Isn’t there middle ground between hypervigilance
and complete secrecy? [ . . . ] If people talked about feeling suicidal
[ . . . ] as much as they talked about feeling depressed or anxious,
would we finally be forced to see how common it is and start
creating space for these conversations? Would it be the worst thing
in the world if we started talking about not wanting to be alive,
and what might help keep us here?
—Anna Borges, “I Am Not Always Very Attached to Being Alive”
ANNA BORGES, a mental health advocate and writer for a number of media
outlets, came out in 2019 as someone who experiences “passive suicidality,”
the experience of having, based on her definition, suicidal ideation without
actively attempting to complete a suicide. In addition to the courage required
for such a public coming out—knowing that suicidal people suffer stigmati-
zation, exclusion, marginalization, pathologization, incarceration, and forms
of criminalization—Borges’s essay is noteworthy for its identification of some
of the worries, fears, and consequences, such as surveillance and stigma, that
surround suicidality and that often lead to the silencing of suicidal people.
Borges is not the only public personality to discuss suicidality. Indeed, inter-
est in mental health issues has led many public figures and artists to come
out as suicidal individuals and share their experiences.1 In the same year,
Anna Mehler Paperny, a reporter for Reuters in Toronto and the author of a
2019 memoir, Hello I Want to Die Please Fix Me, published excerpts of her
42 | CH APTER 1
book in the Canadian magazine The Walrus. Introducing the text, she states
(2019b, 49):
For ages, the dictate has been not to write honestly about suicide—
not to mention even the word, never mind methods, lest, in referenc-
ing it directly, you prompt suicidal spirals in others. But you can’t
tackle the endless abyss of wanting to die on tiptoes; that just leaves
you with the half-hearted interventions we’ve pretended are the best
society can do. I need to be faithful to the experience. This is how I
felt, and this is how I acted; this is what people in despair are driven
to do. These are the people we fail in myriad ways, and this is the
cost of that failure.
This “failure” is the failure to truly listen to suicidal people and to openly
discuss suicidality. Like Borges, Paperny names her concerns about being
honest about her suicidal ideation, based on her first-hand experience of be-
ing brought by police officers to the hospital against her will, being badly
treated during her hospitalization, and being physically restrained after sui-
cide attempts.
North American media is replete with horrific stories of suicidal people
facing inhumane treatment after expressing their suicidal ideation, from be-
ing hospitalized and drugged against their will to being handcuffed and shot
by police officers called to suicidal “crisis scenes.” It is worth noting that
police brutality is also deeply informed by racial and (dis)ability power rela-
tions, since it targets particularly those who are racialized, disabled, Mad,
and neurodivergent (Puar 2017). Such stories confirm what some studies
have shown to be the harsh realities faced by suicidal individuals (Stefan
2016; Szasz 1999; Webb 2011). These stories illustrate that, despite the public
discourses of support, compassion, and care surrounding suicidality, suicidal
individuals who reach out for help often do not always find the compassion
promised (Fitzpatrick 2020; Jaworski 2020; Radford, Wishart, and Martin
2019; White 2020b; White and Morris 2019). Through the discourses of
risk, surveillance, and the protection of vulnerable people from themselves,
incarceration and violations of basic human rights are considered justifiable.
While it is not my intention to provide a statistical analysis of how many
suicidal people suffer traumatic experiences when revealing their suicidal
ideation, I argue that a few instances of inhumane treatment are already too
many. Additionally, such traumatic experiences haunt the public imagination
and prevent people from discussing their suicidal ideation.
While the topic of suicide is often discussed, a widespread but unspo-
S uicidism | 43
ken phenomenon that isolates and silences suicidal people remains unex-
amined. It is a “problem that has no name,” to borrow an expression from
Betty Friedan (1963), who attempted to theorize women’s oppression at a
time when conceptual feminist tools were still underdeveloped. In our era
of intersectional analyses, when long lists of oppressions have been theorized
and denounced, including sexism, racism, colonialism, classism, ageism, cis-
genderism, heterosexism, sizeism, ableism, and sanism, to name but a few
(Crenshaw 1989; Hill Collins 2000), one form of oppression remains absent
from such lists: the oppression of suicidal people, or what I call structural sui-
cidism. Although anti-oppression activists/scholars address suicide, they do so
in efforts to prevent suicides rather than to theorize the oppression endured
by suicidal people. The absence of this oppression from discussions of suicid-
ality is so profound that the oppression has yet to be named. After reflecting
on the realities faced by suicidal people, I sought a term that could capture
this oppression. I faced a conceptual desert or, as I demonstrate later, a form
of hermeneutical injustice. The fact that no term existed to discuss this op-
pression is quite revealing. By borrowing from other terms, such as sexism
and ableism, I coined the neologism suicidism in 2016–2017. While Merriam-
Webster’s Dictionary has included the term suicidism since 1913, its definition,
as “the quality or state of being suicidal,” differs radically from mine and is
not widely used these days.2 My use of the term suicidism refers to “an op-
pressive system (stemming from nonsuicidal perspectives) functioning at the
normative, discursive, medical, legal, social, political, economic, [religious],
and epistemic levels, a system in which suicidal people experience multiple
forms of injustice and violence” (Baril 2018, 193; my translation). Suicidist
violence is pernicious among anti-oppression activists/scholars because it is
framed as protecting vulnerable people from themselves. Furthermore, sui-
cidism is intertwined with ableism and sanism because it often mobilizes
arguments about “mental capacity” to revoke people’s agency. However, sui-
cidism should not be reduced to ableism and sanism, as I illustrate later, be-
cause suicidist norms and structures are at work regardless of whether ableist
and sanist perspectives are deployed to oppress suicidal subjects. Therefore,
suicidism is distinct from, though interlocked with, other systems of op-
pression. The thesis defended in this chapter is simple but radical: Suicidal
people suffer individually and collectively from suicidist oppression, and this
oppression remains unproblematized in current interpretations of suicidality,
including those grounded in anti-oppressive and social justice approaches.
This chapter, which raises epistemological questions about dominant con-
ceptualizations of suicidality, is divided into four parts. The first part reviews
four predominant models of suicidality: medial/psychological, social, public
44 | CH APTER 1
health, and social justice. I demonstrate that, despite important differences

between and within each of these models, they arrive at the same conclusion:
Suicide is never a good option for suicidal people (it only becomes an option for
some people through forms of assisted suicide for disabled/sick/ill/old and
sometimes Mad people, as I discuss in Chapter 4). Only a handful of schol-
ars, who generally adhere to the social justice model, have recently started to
question this conclusion.3 In the second part, I identify problems—namely,
forms of suicidism and sanism—raised by these four models of suicidality. In
the third part, I discuss alternative conceptualizations of suicidality, which
imply that suicide can (or should) sometimes be regarded as a valid option.
In this section, I turn a critical eye on these alternative conceptualizations of
suicidality, demonstrating the ways in which they are founded on problem-
atic assumptions. Although some pragmatic perspectives may critique the
marginalization of suicidal subjects, I argue that they do not ultimately con-
ceptualize their oppression as systemic, nor do they address it from an anti-
oppressive approach—hence the importance of developing a new theoretical
framework, suicidism, to conceptualize suicidality as an oppression from an
anti-oppressive approach. The fourth part of the chapter mobilizes the no-
tions of epistemic violence and epistemic injustice to theorize the testimonial
and hermeneutical injustices experienced by suicidal subjects.
This chapter does not provide clear answers and solutions to the issues I am
identifying; rather, it offers critiques and questions as a starting point for theo-
rizing suicidal people’s oppression. Furthermore, although I explore various
conceptualizations of suicidality, I do not aim to present an exhaustive portrait
of each of these positions and their proponents, arguments, advantages, and
limits. Authors before me, cited in this chapter, have already done an excellent
job of describing and critiquing these various models. The typology I offer
here also does not do justice to the porousness of the boundaries between each
model. Indeed, while establishing typologies is heuristic, for example peda-
gogically or in terms of accessibility, for a lay public, doing so simultaneously
homogenizes each model and erases the continuities and similarities between
some models. I invite readers to conceptualize the boundaries between the four
models of suicidality presented here as less categorical and definitive, but more
open-ended and fluid. For example, the social model of suicidality, particularly
in its historical emergence, often relied on medical/psychological explanations
in combination with social factors to explain suicide. This example is but one
that illustrates that these models are not always radically different on the on-
tological, theoretical, or epistemological level; in fact, they sometimes strongly
influence each other, as I briefly show in the following pages.
S uicidism | 45
Despite lacking the space to do justice to the complexities of each model,

the exploration and mapping of these various conceptualizations of suicidal-
ity constitute the foundation for my larger goal of demonstrating two main
arguments. First, despite their crucial differences, these models share fun-
damental postulates, including the endorsement of the preventionist script
that this book aims to deconstruct. Second, presenting a typology of existing
models demonstrates the absence of a position like mine in the literature. I
am also particularly interested in highlighting limitations of the social jus-
tice model of suicidality, which relies on anti-oppressive and intersectional
approaches and yet continues to uphold assumptions shared by the other
models, such as the preventionist discourse. The social justice model does not
problematize the oppression of suicidal people in terms of suicidism, nor does
it support their right to (assisted) suicide. My work builds on and critiques
the social justice model of suicide and proposes an alternative in Chapter 5—
namely, my queercrip model of suicidality.
1.1 The Main Models of Suicidality

Before discussing the different models of suicidality, it is important to pro-
vide a brief historical contextualization. As numerous authors have argued,
conceptualizations of suicide have changed tremendously across various his-
torical periods and cultures (e.g., Cholbi 2011; Colucci et al. 2013; Fitzpatrick
2014; Marsh 2010b). The wide variety of written and oral primary sources in
the edited volume The Ethics of Suicide: Historical Sources (Battin 2015), span-
ning from the twentieth century b.c. to the contemporary twentieth century,
is a powerful testament to how current conceptualizations of suicide are re-
cent phenomena. When we look at the extensive range of self-accomplished
death practices—for example, the thirty-six categories of suicide put forth by
scholars Colin Tatz and Simon Tatz (2019, 61–69) or the six main categories
established by philosopher Margaret Pabst Battin (2015, 1), ranging from
hunger strikes to martyrdom and suicide bombings—we quickly realize that
what we have come to understand as “suicide” in contemporary capitalist,
industrialized countries represents a very narrow subset of a range of diversi-
fied practices. From Greek and Roman antiquity to the Americas, Oceania,
or Africa, as well as in diverse religious and spiritual traditions, The Ethics of
Suicide: Historical Sources demonstrates how self-accomplished deaths have
not always been as unthinkable as they are today and how the current “mono-
lithic view” of suicide in “Western” countries, often seen through a pathologi-
cal lens, is a quite recent phenomenon (2015, 2). To take but one example, as
46 | CH APTER 1
scholar Scott J. Fitzpatrick (2014) points out, the seppuku (sometimes known
as hara-kiri) was inscribed in a meaningful ritualistic practice in feudal Ja-
pan. This example highlights the importance of understanding each practice
of self-accomplished death on its own and within its sociocultural and histor-
ical context: “Suicide is historical. Its meaning, methods, rates, and concepts
are not static but change over time [ . . . ]. Each and every suicide is located
within its own temporal nexus of cultural, social, personal, moral, and/or
political factors. In this view, knowledge of the prevailing cultural-historical
background becomes a necessary condition for understanding the individual
act of suicide [ . . . ]” (Fitzpatrick 2014, 225). The social construction of sui-
cide and its various meanings according to specific contexts (Douglas 1967)
allow for a multiplicity of discourses on suicide, as Fitzpatrick (2014, 228)
notes: “Conflicting views on the meaning of suicide can, and do, coexist.
Suicide has been variously described as rational, irrational, cowardly, honour-
able, brave, and weak.” In sum, conceptualizations of suicide and reactions
and attitudes toward suicide vary greatly across and within epochs and cul-
tures, an undeniable fact that helps cast the current dominant view of suicide
as a major problem as only one perspective among many others:
A full understanding of suicide cannot start with the assumption

that all suicide is pathological, that it can almost always be attrib-
uted to depression or mental illness, that it is a matter of biochemical
abnormality, that it is always wrong, or that there are no real ethi-
cal issues about suicide. These views are to be explored, not presup-
posed. To be sure, the history of reflection on the ethics of suicide
will be a continuing history, as cultural conceptions of suicide and
related issues like self-sacrifice, heroism, social protest, self-deliver-
ance, martyrdom, and so on in each of these contexts evolve, but, in
an increasingly global world in which once-independent traditions
interact more and more fully and in the process shape and reshape
each other, it is important to be able to view the deeper roots of these
issues. (Battin 2015, 10)
By examining the important historical and cultural variations in concep-

tualizations of suicide, I hope to highlight that the four predominant models
of suicidality presented in this chapter provide only a small glimpse into the
wider perspectives on self-accomplished death. I also hope that the alterna-
tive queercrip model of suicidality I introduce later in the book, which aims
to transform policies and practices regarding (assisted) suicide, will be un-
S uicidism | 47
derstood alongside this multiplicity of alternative views on suicide and con-

tribute epistemic, moral, societal, and cultural changes to this “monolithic
view” of suicidality.4
Prior to being conceptualized as a form of mental illness or as a response
to social and political problems, suicide was perceived as a sin against God
and a crime against the state in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries (Mac-
Donald 1989). Various condemnations and punishments have been used to
deter people from attempting or completing suicide, such as desecration of
the dead body, refusal of a traditional burial, and fines or imprisonment
for survivors.5 The image of a suicidal person as irrational, impulsive, and
“insane,” motivated by powerful forces (such as mental illness) instead of
bad morals, is a recent development (Marsh 2010b). Scholar Chloë Taylor
(2014, 13) calls this phenomenon “the birth of the suicidal subject.” It was
only in the eighteenth century, through the emergence of biopower (Foucault
1976, 1997), that the “suicidal person” made its appearance. The apparatus
of biopower and biopolitical tools, such as demography and statistics, created
conditions under which acts became identities and suicidality was recast as
madness. Throughout history, suicide has followed a trajectory similar to that
of same-sex sexual practices; it went from being perceived as a sin and an il-
legal act potentially committed by anyone to being perceived as a psychiatric
and psychological condition expressed through a specific set of traits (Marsh
2010b; Taylor 2014, 15). As sociologist Zohreh BayatRizi (2008, 93) con-
tends, “The result was the discursive transformation of suicide from an indi-
vidual act belonging to the category of morality and free will to a social and
medical problem resulting from external, objective forces that are amenable
to control, management, and prevention.” However, as scholars Scott J. Fitz-
patrick, Claire Hooker, and Ian Kerridge (2015) explain, despite the moral
revolution regarding suicidality that followed the emergence of biopower,
most contemporary perceptions of suicide remained negative and haunted by
moral imperatives. Indeed, the moralization of suicide simply took on new
forms. For example, contemporary authors such as Jennifer Michael Hecht
(2013, x), discussed in the Introduction, propose secular philosophical argu-
ments to oppose suicide on moral grounds, such as the duty of the suicidal
person to stay alive because suicide is seen as doing “wrenching damage to
the community.”
Furthermore, as responses to suicide went from punishment and pro-
hibition to regulation, the medicalization of suicide eliminated suicidal
people’s previous agency and autonomy. Thomas Szasz (1999, 31) character-
izes this process as “transforming badness into madness.” Suicidal ideation
48 | CH APTER 1
and attempts, which had been construed as bad actions, were thus reframed
through a process of pathologization as symptomatic of an uncontrollable
subject “hijacked” by a disease of the mind or of the society. For example,
Hecht (2013, x) qualifies suicidality as a “monster” taking over a person. As
BayatRizi (2008, 97) explains:
The individual may have gained the right to kill himself, but in the
process, he lost the status of author of his own acts. If he killed him-
self, he was simply too incompetent to know what he was doing. The
old punishments were abandoned, but they were quickly replaced by
new preventative measures that nullify the subjective meanings of
suicide.
This transformation from punishment and prohibition to regulation, or

from “severity to tolerance” (MacDonald 1989, 74), led to the creation of
two main models of suicidality in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries
that still exist today. These two main models conceptualize suicidality either
as an individual pathology from a medical/psychological approach or as a
collective/political pathology from a social approach. In the medical and the
social models, as in the other models presented in the following sections, sui-
cidality remains construed as a problem to be fixed. It is also crucial to keep
in mind that this major shift in the ways of conceptualizing, judging, and
dealing with suicide, from moralization/criminalization to pathologization,
was the result of multiple factors, such as religious, social, cultural, political,
and legal transformations (Houston 2009; MacDonald 1989) and cannot be
considered a “linear narrative” (Fitzpatrick 2014, 223).
1.1.1. The Medical Model

Authors who look at suicide from a historical perspective, such as Thomas
F. Tierney (2006, 2010), Zohreh BayatRizi (2008), or Ian Marsh (2010b,
2018a), generally identify the medical model as emerging during the eigh-
teenth and nineteenth centuries. While it would be easy to assume that the
medical model resulted mostly from the growing authority of doctors and
physicians on the question of suicide, the work of historians such as Michael
MacDonald (1989) or Rab Houston (2009) regarding the secularization, de-
criminalization, and medicalization of suicide in Scotland and England dem-
onstrates that, in fact, doctors and physicians had only a modest contribution
in the emergence of this new conceptualization of suicide. The medicaliza-
tion of suicide, to use Houston’s (2009) words, occurred in a “wider context”
S uicidism | 49
of transformation at the social, cultural, intellectual, political, legal, religious,

and scientific levels, leading to new understandings of crime and “deviances.”
Based on these historical accounts, at least in Scotland and England, it is as
though the medicalization of suicide that emerged in the eighteenth century
happened without the active support and omnipresence of doctors and physi-
cians. MacDonald (1989, 88) concludes that it is crucial to not conflate the
medicalization of suicide and its association with insanity with physicians’
views on suicide during that period or to overestimate the role that physicians
played in this process because at that time “the medical profession lacked the
authority and organizational strength that it would gain in the nineteenth
and twentieth centuries”; rather, we must situate the medicalization of suicide
in its broader sociohistorical context marked by profound religious and legal
transformations, scientific discoveries, the Enlightenment, and the develop-
ment of different perspectives on suicide in literature and philosophy.6
While it would be erroneous to reduce the medicalization of suicide to
the roles of a few physicians or psychiatrists, it is nonetheless interesting to
briefly examine a few key actors within the medical model of suicidality,
keeping in mind the broader context in which they have developed their
theories. Jean-Étienne-Dominique Esquirol is identified by many authors
as an important suicide theorist and the father of what later would become
known as the medical theory or model of suicidality (Houston 2009; Marsh
2010b). Whether they originate in “organic disturbances in the body’s organs
or tissues” (Fitzpatrick, Hooker, and Kerridge 2015, 309), as believed by Es-
quirol; in brain or neurobiological dysfunctions, as believed by contemporary
authors (Mann and Arango 2016); or partly through genetic or epigenetic
accounts (Turecki 2018), suicidal ideations in the medical model are attrib-
uted either entirely or partially to individual pathologies. The medical model
created what Marsh (2010b, 31) calls a “compulsory ontology of pathology.”7
It is important to emphasize that the medical model of suicidality focuses not
only on physiological pathologies (e.g., genetics, neurobiology) but also on
pathologies of the mind/heart (e.g., mental and psychological “disorders” or
emotional “disturbances”). In other words, the medical model of suicidality
includes psychiatric and psychological perspectives on suicidality that situate
the “problem” of suicidality totally or partially in the mind. When authors
discuss the medical model of suicidality prevalent in the field of suicidology
today, they often group the biomedical model with the psychiatric and psy-
chological models, as Marsh (2020b, 17) does in his analysis of the models
of suicidality. Following Marsh, I believe that it is useful to group together
medical, psychiatric, and psychological theories in what could be called the
medical model of suicidality, despite differences between these models, and de-
50 | CH APTER 1
spite the fact that, as pointed out by Houston (2009, 98), historically, “medi-
cal men involved with suicide were cautious about psychologizing.” In fact,
many of them were originally quite reluctant to offer psychological explana-
tions of suicide and were more focused on the physical aspects of suicidality,
at least until later in the nineteenth century (110). The “psy” disciplines and
expertise, as noted by sociologist Nikolas Rose (1999), became more impor-
tant in the twentieth century, to the point of being central in our current
ways of dealing with suicidality in medicine, law, public policies, interven-
tion, and many other spheres.
Within the “psy” disciplines, Edwin Shneidman, one of the most influ-
ential authors of suicidology and the man who named the field of study in
the 1960s, believes that the illness or disease of suicidal people is inscribed in
their psyche. Shneidman argues that suicidal individuals are suffering psy-
chologically and that this “psychache” is the main component of suicidality.
Defining some of his key concepts and neologisms, Shneidman (1993, x)
writes, “Suicidology simply defines the field of knowledge of suicide and the
practice of suicide prevention; psychache throws emphasis on the central role
of psychological pain in suicide (and suicide’s irreducible psychological char-
acter)” (emphasis in the original). Shneidman (42–45) argues that suicidality
stems from three important interrelated factors: (1) psychological pain, (2)
perturbation of the mind, and (3) pressures (called “press”) triggering and
affecting the individual. Contemporary suicidologists have followed Shneid-
man’s path. For example, scholar Thomas Joiner (2005), one of the most cited
authors in the field of suicidology today,8 suggests an interpersonal theory of
suicide, emphasizing the importance of relationships and arguing that suicid-
al ideation emerges when some basic human needs are unfulfilled, including
having a sense of belonging to a group or feeling useful. Joiner believes that
unmet relational needs are at the origin of suicidal ideation and that suicide
attempts result from the acquired ability to self-harm through progressive ex-
posure to self-injury. In that sense, while psychache is a fundamental element
in suicidality, it cannot explain it entirely.
Although the medical model tends to focus on individual, curable pa-
thologies, some proponents nonetheless recognize to some extent the role that
social, environmental, political, and cultural factors may play in suicidality.
This perception was the case for some of the early medical conceptualizations
of suicidality, such as those developed by Jean-Pierre Falret (1822), which
combined internal and hereditary factors with external ones (Houston 2009,
93). More than a century later, Shneidman (1993, 3), for example, has built
his theory of suicidality on two main arguments: “The first is that suicide is
a multifaceted event and that biological, cultural, sociological, interpersonal,
S uicidism | 51
intrapsychic, logical, conscious and unconscious, and philosophical elements

are present, in various degrees, in each suicidal event. The second branch of
my assertion is that, in the distillation of each suicidal event, its essential ele-
ment is a psychological one” (emphasis in the original). Shneidman mobilizes
the example of a tree to better understand the role played by psychologi-
cal factors in suicidality, arguing that the trunk represents the psychological
aspects, while genetics and biochemical states are the roots of the tree. As
demonstrated by sociologist Allan V. Horwitz (2002), an increasing number
of proponents of the medical model have, in past decades, included in their
conceptualization of mental illness some social factors or stressors to explain
suicide and distress.
Therefore, the medical model of suicidality is clearly not as homogeneous
or as unidimensional as is sometimes depicted. Moreover, its boundaries with
other models of suicidality, such as the social model presented in the next
section, have become increasingly blurry. That being said, commonalities
are evident among most authors adhering to this model. According to Marsh
(2016), the medical model of suicidality is based on three assumptions. First,
suicidality is seen as resulting from mental illness or, I would add, any other
kind of body or mind pathology. Second, suicidology is believed to be an
objective science. Third, suicidality is understood primarily as an individual/
personal problem. Since critical suicidology scholars have offered convincing
arguments to deconstruct the limitations of these widespread assumptions,9
I turn now to the social model of suicidality.
1.1.2. The Social Model

During the same period marked by the passage from punishment and pro-
hibition of suicidality to its medicalization, biopower and biopolitics10 con-
tributed to the development and deployment of a wide array of tools, such
as demography and statistics, used by early sociologists to develop a compet-
ing discourse on suicidality, the social model (Wray, Colen, and Pescosolido
2011). The social model played a large role in shaping the policies and prac-
tices surrounding suicidality that still influence our current preventionist per-
spectives. However, in keeping with my previous observations regarding the
porousness of the boundaries between models, one might wonder whether,
in fact, the medical and the social models are fundamentally different. The
epistemologies supporting the two models, anchored in positivist and post-
positivist frameworks, as well as the methodologies underlying both models
that focus on statistical analysis, raise a number of questions regarding their
supposed competing discourses on suicidality. The emergence of this second
52 | CH APTER 1
model of suicidality also needs to be contextualized within its broader social,

cultural, political, epistemological, medical, legal, and religious era, in which
the work of early sociologists often combined medical/psychological explana-
tions and social theorizations of suicidality. For example, in her 1928 book
Suicide, Ruth Shonle Cavan, one of the main figures of the Chicago school of
sociology, interrogates the role of social factors in relation to suicide, such as
climate, geography, religion, or civil status, while relying strongly on psycho-
pathological concepts, such as “personal disorganization” and “psychoses.”
Other sociologists, such as Andrew F. Henry and James F. Short in their 1954
book Suicide and Homicide, try to establish correlations between economic
depression and suicide rates, while still deploying key medical/psychological
theoretical frameworks, such as the “frustration-aggression model.” They be-
lieve that psychological characteristics, such as feelings of guilt, or even par-
ticular types of physiological responses to stress and frustration can trigger
aggression, leading to either homicide or suicide. Some contemporary authors
in sociology or psychology propose a similar conceptualization of suicidality
as an aggressive behavior (e.g., McCloskey and Ammerman 2018).
Even canonical sociological figures who theorize suicidality from a social
perspective, such as French sociologist Émile Durkheim (1951),11 are not ex-
empt from mobilizing individual, pathological, and psychological explana-
tions to understand suicidality, while insisting more on the social patholo-
gies that lead to suicidal ideation and attempts (BayatRizi 2008). Instead of
situating the “problem” of suicidality solely or primarily in the individual,
the social model identifies society and its dys/function as the culprits. The
social model aims to identify patterns, recurrences, and tendencies between
suicidality and social factors, such as economic crises, wars, social values,
familial relationships, marginalized identities, or cultural representations, to
understand and prevent suicidality. As Fitzpatrick, Hooker, and Kerridge
(2015) explain, the social model of suicidality historically constituted a seri-
ous threat to the medical model, challenging the idea that suicidality results
from (mental) illness. However, in their critical epistemological and genea-
logical analyses of the discipline of suicidology, Taylor (2014), Fitzpatrick,
Hooker, and Kerridge (2015), and Marsh (2016) suggest that, despite the
social model’s search for scientific authority, most laws, regulations, poli-
cies, prevention campaigns, and even the field of suicidology itself have been
dominated by the medical model, brushing aside the contributions of the
social model. Durkheim’s work continues to influence the study of suicidal-
ity, despite the predominance of the medical model and despite critiques of
Durkheim’s social theorizing on suicide. One such critique is exemplified
in the work of existential sociologist Jack D. Douglas (1967), who explains
S uicidism | 53
that understanding of suicidality through structural-functional approaches

and statistical analyses is limited (or almost useless) if it is not paired with a
deeper understanding of each individual’s contextualized social meaning of
suicidality.
Several contemporary authors who critique Durkheim nonetheless have
adopted some of his hypotheses and notions to theorize suicidality (Wray,
Colen, and Pescosolido 2011). For example, in their 2015 book Suicide: A
Modern Obsession, scholars Derek Beattie and Patrick Devitt argue that eco-
nomic position, marital status, and cultural representations influence sui-
cide rates. Deploying theories often mobilized in sociology, such as social
learning theory, they believe in the phenomenon of copycat suicides, wherein
completed suicides are thought to encourage other suicides.12 As a result,
they promote social solutions, such as forbidding media coverage of suicides.
Despite their adherence to the social model, the influence of the medical
model and its legacy is evident, as in the idea that the suicidal subject is in
some way irrational, “insane,” or “crazy” and lacks the capacity to adequately
judge their fatal action. Beattie and Devitt (2015, 101) write, “Had these five
victims [of suicide] known that their deaths would wreak such devastation
amongst those around them, might they have chosen differently? [ . . . ] But
our question is in some ways unfair. Many suicidal people are incapable of
the rational thought that is required to ponder the effects that their suicide
might have on others.” Similar sociological perspectives, embracing the social
determinants of health in relation to suicidality, but simultaneously positing
suicide as an irrational act, can be found in sociologist Jason Manning’s 2020
book Suicide: The Social Causes of Self-Destruction. Grounded in “pure sociol-
ogy,” the title of the book evokes suicide as a form of violence turned toward
the self. Manning (3) also blames suicidal people for the harm done to others
in the midst of their “self-destruction”: “Suicide destroys relationships, alters
reputations, and can lead to grief, guilt, blame, shame, sympathy, therapy,
vengeance, and more suicide.” While not all sociological accounts of suicide
reproduce these renewed forms of pathologization or moralization, the afore-
mentioned authors, from such early sociologists as Cavan, Henry, and Short
to such contemporary ones as Beattie, Devitt, and Manning, demonstrate
the residual assumptions inherited from the medical model of suicidality as
well as forms of moralization of suicidal actions, which permeate the social
model. These assumptions also show that the boundaries between the models
presented in this chapter are fluid.
Additionally, the social model of suicidality shares similarities with the
public health model (sometimes called the biopsychosocial model) and the
social justice model of suicidality. In fact, the social model and the social jus-
54 | CH APTER 1
tice model share so many postulates, assumptions, and affinities that they are
often conflated, including by me in the past. In my previous work, following
numerous authors, I discuss these two models indistinguishably; only later,
while reading Suicide and Social Justice, edited by scholars Mark E. Button
and Ian Marsh (2020), did I become aware of the differences between the
two. While the social and the social justice models interpret suicidality based
on social forces and factors, the former inherits its assumptions from the sci-
entific positivist tradition insisting on the importance of objectivity, quan-
titative data, and sociological generalizations (with a few exceptions), while
the latter offers contextualized explanations of suicidality focusing on the
importance of qualitative research and proposing critical analyses of suicidal-
ity and its relationship to marginalized communities. As Button and Marsh
(2020a, 2) explain, the social model of suicidality derives from a traditional
sociological perspective and focuses on “social determinants of health,” of-
ten brushing aside the political analysis and actions promoted by the social
justice model. Button (2020, 89) shows how the objectivity, neutrality, and
positivist stance often adopted by sociologists adhering to the social model
lead to a depoliticized response to suicidality:
Sociologists (still following Durkheim after all these years) are cer-
tainly right to point to the social forces that undermine human well-
being, but until these social forces are traced to the political struc-
tures and agents that bear partial responsibility for them, and until
citizens and leaders close the door on willful blindness and bad faith
about the relationship between policy regimes and the distribution
of vulnerability to suicide, suicide will remain a public health crisis
without an adequate political level of analysis and response.
However, it would be unfair to depict the social model as homogeneous

and to reduce it to a form of “objective” study of suicidality by using a tradi-
tional sociological lens. Indeed, some contemporary authors are champions
of linking economics and epidemiology with social justice. For example, in
their 2020 book, Deaths of Despair and the Future of Capitalism, economist
academics Anne Case and Angus Deaton show how capitalist economies lead
to distress and death, as is the case with suicidality (see also Wray, Poladko,
and Vaughan Allen 2011). They propose various social and public policies to
counterbalance the deleterious effects of capitalism on marginalized com-
munities. In their 2013 book, The Body Economic: Why Austerity Kills, based
on various historical case studies, public health scholars David Stuckler and
Sanjay Basu demonstrate how financial cuts in health and social programs
S uicidism | 55
deeply affect population health, to the point of killing some people. In an

earlier article that Stuckler and Basu published with other colleagues in The
Lancet (Stuckler et al. 2009), they look specifically at mortality rates, includ-
ing suicide rates, in relation to economic crises and austerity measures. They
conclude that their demonstration regarding the key consequences of econo-
my on people’s health could have deep impacts on social policies: “The analy-
sis also suggests that governments might be able to protect their populations,
specifically by budgeting for measures that keep people employed, helping
those who lose their jobs cope with the negative effects of unemployment
[ . . . ].” Additionally, to further blur the lines between the social model pre-
sented here and the social justice model I introduce later, many, if not most,
authors in the field of critical suicidology who adhere to a social justice ap-
proach have called, or still call, their approach “social” as opposed to medical,
as I did in the past. In that sense, depicting the social model of suicidality as
an apolitical approach would be not only imprecise but unfair. Therefore, it
is important to keep in mind that no pure “social” model of suicidality exists
and that the description provided here does not presume that the four models
are mutually exclusive.
1.1.3. The Public Health Model

Falling between the two (supposedly) oppositional medical and social mod-
els, an important third approach has emerged over the past thirty years:
the public health model (Wray, Colen, and Pescosolido 2011), also known
as the biopsychosocial model of suicidality (Webb 2011). This model, an-
chored in public health epidemiological approaches and favoring evidence-
based research and statistical data, is mobilized in relation to multiple public
health “problems,” including alcohol, drug, and tobacco use; domestic and
sexual violence; and child abuse. This model bridges more individualistic
(some might say proximal) and social (some might say distal) approaches
to promote population health. Multi- and interdisciplinary by nature, the
public health model aims to identify risk factors underlying some illnesses
and social problems and to work on multiple fronts—for example, at the in-
dividual or sociocultural level—to prevent those illnesses and social problems
from affecting the physical and mental health of the population. Adopted
by many health care professionals, this model informs international suicide
prevention guidelines and strategies (Beattie and Devitt 2015; Stefan 2016;
WHO 2012). For example, the World Health Organization (WHO 2014)
states, “Research, for instance, has shown the importance of the interplay
between biological, psychological, social, environmental and cultural factors
56 | CH APTER 1
in determining suicidal behaviours” (8), calling for a “multisectoral suicide

prevention strategy” (9). WHO identifies four pillars of this public health
model: practicing “surveillance,” “identify[ing] risk and protective factors,”
“develop[ing] and evaluat[ing] interventions,” and “implement[ing]” the so-
lutions identified to maximize health (13).
This third model is an integrated approach that tries to mobilize the
strengths and contributions of the medical and social models.13 The public
health model tries to reconcile the various explanatory factors of suicidality
provided by the medical model (e.g., the role of genetics, predispositions,
neurobiology, and mental illness), as well as by the social model, such as the
role of situational and environmental elements and social factors (e.g., eco-
nomic crises or media coverage of suicides). The public health model calls for
an array of suicide prevention strategies, ranging from intervening directly
with suicidal people to offering guidelines for media coverage surrounding
suicidality. In its 2012 document titled Public Health Action for the Prevention
of Suicide: A Framework, WHO declares that suicide is a “significant social
and public health problem” (2) and proposes multiple prevention strategies,
including a “gatekeeper training” for various professionals, such as health
care providers, social workers, teachers, or spiritual leaders, to identify popu-
lations targeted as “at risk” (16). Some scholars and practitioners adhering to
the social justice model of suicidality presented in the next section, such as
Rebecca S. Morse and colleagues (2020), embrace this gatekeeping approach
and propose to mobilize what they call “paraprofessionals,” or laypeople, to
“recognize the warning signs of suicide, know how to offer hope to a person
in crisis, and know how to get help and possibly save someone’s life” (163).
The public health model also proposes, as Matt Wray, Cynthia Colen, and
Bernice Pescosolido (2011, 511) and Susan Stefan (2016, 419) note, to limit
access to lethal means of completing suicide, such as access to bridges, guns,
pesticides, and poisons. Because of its “one-size-fits-all” approach and its
diverse prevention strategies, the public health model has gained much at-
tention over the past decades and is often praised by authors (e.g., Berardis
et al. 2018; Stefan 2016).
Although in theory the public health model seems to represent the best
of two worlds by reconciling the medical and social perspectives, in practice,
this model is not without flaws. Its existence reveals the tensions between
various approaches as well as the power relations between various actors and
disciplines interacting under this public health umbrella. Button and Marsh
(2020, 3) conclude that despite the broader perspectives put forth in a public
health model, “suicide continues to be conceptualized as primarily a ques-
tion of individual mental health.” Some authors have rightly pointed out this
S uicidism | 57
model’s numerous limitations, such as its focus on surveillance, as well as

its depoliticizing, individualizing, and biologizing effects (e.g., Button 2016,
2020; Marsh 2020b; White and Stoneman 2012). For example, using a criti-
cal suicidology lens, scholar China Mills (2015, 2018) insightfully argues
that this model remains based upon a “psychocentric approach” that tends to
dismiss the importance of structural factors, such as economic and political
austerity, and to overemphasize the pathological self. As Fitzpatrick (2014,
2022) shows, this model is also situated in a broader neoliberal context that
shapes the conceptualization of suicidality and the solutions devised to re-
spond to what is considered a public health emergency. In a similar way that
people are required to manage, optimize, and preserve their health (Day
2021; Pitts-Taylor 2016), Fitzpatrick (2022, 119) notes, in the current neolib-
eral context, the risk of suicide becomes the responsibility of individuals who
must do everything in their power to get better:
The emphasis on individual thoughts, moods, emotions, and behav-

iour as the gauge by which suicide risk is measured and known thus
becomes the solution toward which therapeutic and public health
interventions are directed. This is reflected in an increasing emphasis
on social obligations and personal responsibilities in the amelioration
of suicide risk through education programs that target mental health
literacy, help-seeking, stress management, resilience, problem solv-
ing, and coping skills.
In the same spirit, some scholars, such as Lani East, Kate P. Dorozenko,
and Robyn Martin (2019, 6), argue that public health discourses on suicide
are morally charged and often blame the victims, pointing out their individ-
ual problems and their lack of “coping abilities.” In sum, as we can see from
these critiques of the public health model, while this approach continues to
blur the lines between the various models of suicidality and would have, in
theory, much to contribute to a conceptualization of suicidality from a nu-
anced and complex point of view, critical suicidologists argue that this prom-
ise is unmet. A cooptation of the public health model by the medical model
seems to be at work—hence the development of other models, such as the
social justice model presented in the following section.
1.1.4. The Social Justice Model

Before I present this model, I must provide two caveats. First, like the previ-
ous models, this one is far from homogeneous. While many of the authors
58 | CH APTER 1
adhering to the social justice model conceptualize suicidality as a “problem”

in need of fixing, a few authors endorsing this model have critiqued this
pathological vision of suicidality and have proposed nonstigmatizing and
cutting-edge alternative discourses and visions regarding prevention strate-
gies. However, none of these authors has proposed, thus far, a clear accep-
tance of suicide as a valid and positive right. Their scholarship remains a great
source of inspiration for my reflections. Second, I feel hesitant about some of
the critiques I direct toward the social justice model because in the past year
(at the time of writing this book in 2020–2021), some of these authors have
started to question with more sharpness, as I have done in my work in the
last few years, some taken-for-granted discourses inside critical suicidology.
For example, Jennifer White (2020b, 77) writes, “In order for critical suicide
studies to maintain its critical and creative (cutting) edge, we will need to
move beyond the (now familiar) critiques of psycho-centrism, positivism, and
scientism to mobilize and amplify other voices, worldviews, and interpretive
resources to pursue greater epistemic justice in the study of, and response to,
suicide.” Katrina Jaworski (2020, 590) calls for a “new foundation for criti-
cal suicidology” to critique the silencing of suicidal subjects and promote an
“ethics of wonder and generosity” toward suicidal people to honor the agency
in their choices.14 As I do in some of my previous work, some authors in the
field (Broer 2020; East, Dorozenko, and Martin 2019; Fitzpatrick 2020; Fitz-
patrick et al. 2021; Krebs 2022; Tack 2019) have also started to critique the
harm done by current prevention strategies and what I call the injunction to
live imposed upon suicidal subjects. In sum, the social justice model and the
field of critical suicidology more generally are fast-growing entities that seem
increasingly interested in turning a critical gaze on their own practices. My
critiques toward the social justice model of suicidality therefore target not
these authors and their renewed perspectives on suicidality but rather those
who continue to cast suicidality as only a “problem” to fix. Indeed, many
other authors who embrace this model continue to see suicidality as the re-
sult of structural violence and therefore frame it entirely negatively, as a social
problem in need of eradication.
I would like to begin this section by sketching a portrait of the field of
critical suicidology, as it is intimately linked to the social justice model of sui-
cidality. More recently called critical suicide studies by some scholars,15 and
previously called critically reflective suicidology (Fitzpatrick, Hooker, and
Kerridge 2015) or post-suicidology (Marsh 2015), the field of critical suicidol-
ogy is sometimes associated with or perceived as a social movement (Tatz and
Tatz 2019, 174). While it is not my intention to engage in sociological debates
about what could or should count as a social movement, I agree that critical
S uicidism | 59
suicidology, as a field of knowledge constructed by politically engaged schol-

ars who fight for social justice for marginalized groups, may be regarded as a
field of study and as a social movement. Although critical perspectives on the
medical model of suicidality have emerged over the past few decades, putting
forward social explanations and solutions and promoting social justice,16 it is
only since 2010 that critical suicidology has constituted a field, in reaction
to what is considered and called a more “traditional,” “mainstream” (Marsh
2015; White et al. 2016a), or “conventional” (Fitzpatrick, Hooker, and Ker-
ridge 2015) suicidology. Beginning in 2010, scholars started publishing stud-
ies that were precursors to the emergence of the field itself.17 At the time,
these activists/scholars called for a social approach to suicide rather than a so-
cial justice approach per se, even though the work of those precursors clearly
rests upon a social justice model. To my knowledge, Jaworski (2014, 153) is
the first author to use the expression “critical suicidology.” Since 2015, critical
suicidology has emerged as a distinct and recognized field of knowledge, with
key works distinguishing critical suicidology from traditional suicidology.18
In comparison to conventional suicidology, according to Fitzpatrick, Hooker,
and Kerridge (2015, 319), a “critically reflective suicidology” provides a more
complex conceptualization of suicidality and questions the methodological,
theoretical, and epistemological assumptions of suicidology. In addition to
“shaking up” traditional suicidology (Marsh 2015, 8; White 2015b, 1) and
critically questioning the methodological, theoretical, and epistemological
presumptions of conventional suicidology, I outline here six main features of
the field of critical suicidology.19
First, critical of the positivist stance of mainstream suicidology, critical
suicidology offers creative and diversified perspectives, approaches, meth-
odologies, and conceptual frameworks. Second, this inherent diversity situ-
ates critical suicidology as an interdisciplinary field of knowledge focused on
qualitative research, in contrast to the disciplinary (medicine, psychiatry, and
psychology), quantitative, and evidence-based approaches that have domi-
nated conventional suicidology. Third, contrary to the often ahistorical and
acontextual lens used to interpret suicidality by conventional suicidology,
critical suicidology offers interpretations of suicidality that insist on historic-
ity, complexity, and contextuality. Fourth, in opposition to a psychocentric
and individualist approach to suicidality, critical suicidology focuses on the
collective, structural, and systemic social, cultural, and political factors that
influence suicidality. Fifth, contrary to mainstream suicidology, which pre-
tends to be an objective science unbiased by power relations, critical suicidol-
ogy recognizes the power relations that influence knowledge, science, and
fields of study and is politically engaged. Sixth, in opposition to traditional
60 | CH APTER 1
suicidology, which promotes the expertise of certain types of researchers and

practitioners (such as physicians, psychiatrists, and psychologists), critical sui-
cidology invites more people into the conversation and recognizes a multi-
plicity of perspectives and types of knowledge.
To these six main features, I would add that several authors in the field,
either implicitly or explicitly, associate critical suicidology with “social jus-
tice oriented and political perspectives” (White et al. 2016b, 2). For Button
(2016, 275), one of the objectives of critical suicidology, or the “political
approach to suicide,”20 is a demand for accountability from policy makers,
institutions, politicians, and society to promote social justice regarding mar-
ginalized groups. Describing the social justice model in Suicide and Social
Justice, Button and Marsh (2020a) also insist that suicidality is linked to
social pathologies, such as colonialism, racism, poverty, heterosexism, and
ableism, creating what Button (2020, 87) calls “suicidal regimes.” Further-
more, the social justice model, which conceptualizes suicidality as the effect
of systemic factors that diminish quality of life, calls for engaged structural
remedies, such as social, cultural, political, economic, and legal transforma-
tions.21 Indeed, from a social justice perspective, which conceptualizes sui-
cidality as the result of systemic oppressive factors, activists/scholars promote
sociopolitical change as a means of eradicating the violent practices believed
to cause suicidality. In sum, proponents of the social justice model believe in
the social and political roots of suicidality and call for a structural remedy.
The social justice model posits a “historicization and politicization”
(Taylor 2014, 20) of suicidality by pointing out norms and structures that
push members of marginalized groups to want to die. Some proponents of
the social justice model argue that “hate kills” suicidal people (Dorais and
Lajeunesse 2004; Reynolds 2016) and that oppressive systems are the cause
of those deaths (Chrisjohn, McKay, and Smith 2014). For example, in an
analysis of suicides in the U.K., Mills (2018, 317) argues that austerity mea-
sures provoke slow deaths and ultimately kill: “Put another way, people are
killing themselves because austerity is killing them. Austerity suicides may
be read as the ultimate outcome of the internalisation of eugenic and market
logic underlying welfare reform driven by austerity. Such deaths make visible
the slow death endemic to austerity.” Such authors as China Mills and Vikki
Reynolds also believe that the term suicide itself is misleading and conceals
homicides and murders of targeted marginalized groups by using individual-
ized and psychological explanations. Scholar Bee Scherer (2020, 146) agrees:
I maintain that we should consider abandoning the term ‘suicide’

altogether. [ . . . ] From a Social Justice perspective, most ‘suicides’
S uicidism | 61
i.e., self-completed deaths cannot be called ‘self-murder’ i.e., ‘suicides’

properly: the illusion of the extent of individual agency that this load-
ed term carries only serves to absolve the system that creates the social
injustice. Social injustice-induced and/or -underpinned self-complet-
ed deaths are not really suicides; those self-completed deaths are, in
fact, delayed, self-completed murders.22
Although I concur that we must politicize suicidality and examine the

factors influencing suicidality in marginalized communities (as I identify as a
trans, bisexual, and disabled/Mad man, I am sensitive to these political analy-
ses), I believe that many proponents of the social justice model nonetheless
perpetuate a pathologization similar to that found in the other models exam-
ined thus far, even though, in this case, the pathology is situated within the
social and political realms. In addition, one of the consequences of focusing
on sociopolitical oppression is that the recommendations are largely based on
“resisting hate, practising solidarity, and transforming society to be inclusive”
(Reynolds 2016, 184) of marginalized groups, often leaving suicidal individu-
als unequipped to deal with their suicidal ideation.23 Some authors adhering
to the social justice model, such as Button (2020, 98), even admit that social
and political solutions “will not be relevant at the individual level in all cases.”
In sum, despite numerous advantages, the social justice model of suicidality
is not flawless. Like the medical, public health, and social models, the social
justice model produces its own forms of suicidist violence, stigmatization, and
exclusion by dismissing the realities of certain individuals. However, contrary
to the flaws and limitations of other models, the limits of the social justice
model remain undertheorized. I would like to ask: What/who is missing from
the social justice model of suicidality? What can we learn from those absences?
How might renewed social justice–oriented understandings of suicidality help
anti-oppression activists/scholars avoid reproducing forms of oppression, in-
cluding toward suicidal people? The next section highlights the pitfalls of these
different models of suicidality, particularly those of the social justice model,
which have remained unexplored from an internal, social justice perspective.
1.2. The Ghosts in Suicidality Models

Despite being developed with good intentions and a desire to help suicidal
people, the models of suicidality presented thus far inadvertently reproduce
suicidist violence at the individual and collective levels. This section explores
the “ghosts”24 that haunt these models—that is, limits that are paradoxically
omnipresent yet invisible. Although simultaneously critiquing four distinct
62 | CH APTER 1
models is problematic, I contend that they produce similar effects on suicidal

subjects. As I demonstrate in the next section, all four models consider sui-
cidality to be a serious social problem or an individual pathology to be elimi-
nated and endorse prevention strategies that often do more harm than good
to suicidal people. The only exception in which suicide is an option for some
proponents of these four models is in the case of disabled/sick/ill people (and
sometimes old and Mad people). In this circumstance, suicide is reframed
as assistance in dying, yet it still excludes suicidal people, as I illustrate in
Chapter 4. In addition to these limitations, two more side effects of these
conceptualizations of suicidality arise: the silencing of suicidal people, lead-
ing others to speak on their behalf, and the implicit promotion of discourses
and norms that dictate how one should react to suicidality, creating norma-
tive injunctions. I contend that these models perpetuate an injunction to live
and to futurity that burdens suicidal people.
1.2.1. Suicide = Problem: Suicidality as a Medical,

Social, or Sociopolitical Pathology
Despite radical differences, all aforementioned models of suicidality condemn
suicide to some extent and support prevention campaigns stating that suicide
is never a good option for suicidal people. As I discuss in my previous work
(Baril 2017, 2018, 2020c), the assumption that suicide must be prevented is
rarely questioned. Only a few authors have started to question the logic of
saving lives at all costs.25 For example, scholars Jennifer White and Jonathan
Morris (2019, 10) ask, “Could conversations about suicide in mental health or
community settings invite more hope and fresh possibilities for living, rather
than reproducing predictable and stale conversations that are driven by the
prevention imperative to save a life at any cost?” Such alternative discourses,
while emerging inside the social justice model, still remain on the periphery.
Furthermore, none of these models interrogates the desire to live. Groups,
organizations, foundations, and public health initiatives working to prevent
suicide do not question the idea that suicide should never be an option, with
a few exceptions, such as the discharged program (Radford, Wishart, and
Martin 2019) or Trans Lifeline (2020), that condemn coercive prevention
strategies but still do not envision suicide as a valid option, as I demonstrate
in Chapter 2. In sum, in all the models, suicidality must have a cause and a
solution. The need/desire/urge to die must be circumscribed and solved.
The assumption that suicidality is a problem and nothing but a problem is
reflected in the negative vocabulary used to discuss suicidality. In her work
on suicidality, using a social justice approach long before it had been named
S uicidism | 63
as such, scholar Simone Fullagar (2003) discusses how suicides are seen as
forms of loss and waste in capitalist and neoliberal societies that aim to maxi-
mize profit and productivity. Fullagar (292) also shows how this context fuels
moralization and the usage of negative vocabulary: “Suicide as waste is im-
plicated in a whole moral vocabulary about living and dying—tragically sad,
incomprehensible, unforgivable, pathological, abnormal, unstable, irrespon-
sible, selfish, morally reprehensible.” This neoliberal context, in which deaths
by suicide are considered a “waste,” also perpetuates what I call an “injunction
to live,” discussed later in this chapter.
While an increasing number of scholars are calling for the abandonment
of the sinful and criminal vocabulary related to suicidality, including expres-
sions such as “committing suicide,” suicidality is still discussed in stigmatiz-
ing and negative terms, even by authors who want to destigmatize it. From a
more clinical perspective, Domenico De Berardis, Giovanni Martinotti, and
Massimo Di Giannantonio (2018, 2) state:
The suicide is always a plague for the population at risk and one of
the most disgraceful events for a human being. Moreover, it implies a
lot of pain often shared by the relatives and persons who are close to
suicide subjects. Furthermore, it has been widely demonstrated that
the loss of a subject due to suicide may be one of the most distress-
ing events that may occur in mental health professionals resulting in
several negative consequences [ . . . ].
Suicidality is framed as a problem not only for suicidal people themselves

but also for their relatives and the health care professionals working with
them. As I mentioned in the Introduction, a logic of victim-blaming is at
play: Nonsuicidal people are cast, from a suicidist perspective, as those suf-
fering and affected by suicidality (Hecht 2013). Beattie and Devitt (2015)
discuss the impact of suicidality on health care professionals and family, the
trauma of suicide for those left behind, and the anger those individuals might
experience. Adopting a historical and critical stance on suicidality, Tatz and
Tatz (2019, 3) contend that “suicide creates such angst and anger, even hyste-
ria, when compared to homicide and other violent causes of death.”
Without reusing the sexist term hysteria to characterize reactions toward
suicidality, I agree with Tatz and Tatz that a strong affective response to sui-
cidality exists, as does a discourse of victim-blaming, even within the social
justice model of suicidality. For example, despite the desire to theorize suicid-
ality in a nonpathologizing and nonstigmatizing manner, several authors in
the edited volume Critical Suicidology (White et al. 2016a) state that suicides
64 | CH APTER 1
cause collateral damage and harm to others. Some authors use terms such
as survivors to refer to the relatives and friends of suicidal people, depicting
suicidality as something unthinkable and violent. In anti-oppressive social
movements/fields of study, we usually refer to “survivors” of sexual violence,
parental mistreatments, war, genocide, forced psychiatric treatments, and
so on. Those who “survive” have survived something violent that should
not have happened in the first place. I believe that we need to go further in
our reflections on the vocabulary we use to describe suicidality and adopt a
critical stance toward certain expressions that create the perception that sui-
cidal people are hurting their friends, relatives, health care professionals, and
society at large. Blaming the victim has not proven to be a good strategy to
help any group navigating difficult experiences. Although suicidality is not
currently officially punished or criminalized, forms of moralization are still
at work when it comes to the conceptualization of suicidality.
From representations of people who “survived” the suicide of a loved one,
to proponents of the medical model referring to the “horror” of suicidal acts
(Joiner 2005), to scholars who theorize suicide as “self-murder” and a form
of sociopolitical “killing,” suicide is often depicted as a negative and violent
act, which silences any other interpretations.26 Alternative strategies that go
beyond prevention remain relatively absent from discussions. As a result, not
only do the four models generally fail to recognize the suicidist oppression
faced by suicidal people; they also perpetuate it through what I call a suicidist
preventionist script. For example, Button (2020, 99) endorses coercive pre-
vention measures: “More broadly speaking, states that are politically serious
about suicide prevention will take steps to act on the ways that they act upon
persons: materially/economically; coercively though laws and regulations; and
discursively through norms and the perpetuation of shared social scripts.” One
of the most perverse effects of these models and their prevention goals is the
silencing of suicidal people. I argue in the following section that the voices of
suicidal people are mostly absent from these models and that these absences
prevent solidarity with them. Suicidism is like the ghost of suicidality’s theo-
rizations and prevention strategies—ubiquitous and pervasive, but never fully
visible, named, or recognized.
1.2.2. Silence = Death: “Speak up. . . . No, don’t. . . .”

The Suicidist Preventionist Script
In lesbian, gay, bisexual, queer (LGBQ) circles, a famous logo depicting a
pink triangle against a black background with the slogan “Silence = Death”
was used in the 1980s by activist groups such as the AIDS Coalition To
S uicidism | 65
Unleash Power (ACT UP) to denounce the silence surrounding the HIV/
AIDS epidemic and the government inaction that led to more deaths each
week (Fung and McCaskell 2012).27 In a similar fashion, we often hear about
an epidemic of suicides. With eight hundred thousand completed suicides
each year at the international level, and many more suicidal ideations and at-
tempts (WHO 2014), public discourse insists that the phenomenon touches
almost everyone. In stark contrast to the indifference of the early years of the
HIV/AIDS crisis, we are constantly talking about suicidality—but not in a
way that invites suicidal people to “break the silence.” The slogan “Silence =
Death” may thus be resignified and redeployed for suicidality from a queer-
crip perspective. Indeed, despite the billions of dollars invested in prevention
campaigns that encourage suicidal people to reach out and speak out, these
people remain silent, and prevention strategies do not seem to be effective.28
The inefficiency of suicide prevention campaigns is evident in the fact
that most suicidal people in North America do not speak up and ask for help
(Bryan 2022; Lytle et al. 2018). Suicidology scholar David Webb (2011, 5)
openly discusses his own past suicidal experience, explaining why so many
suicidal people linger in silence before attempting suicide:
In the current environment [ . . . ] talking about your suicidal feelings

runs the very real risk of finding yourself being judged, locked up and
drugged. Suicidal people know this and [ . . . ] will do their best to
prevent it happening to them. We hide our feelings from others, go
underground. And the deadly cycle of silence, taboo and prejudice is
reinforced. [ . . . ] There is a fundamental flaw at the core of contempo-
rary thinking about suicide; which is the failure to understand suicidal-
ity as it is lived by those who experience it. (emphasis in the original)
The suicidist environment that fuels taboos, stigmatization, incarcera-

tion, and even criminalization—including prison sentences for not dissuad-
ing someone from ending their life or for helping them do so29 —reduces sui-
cidal people to silence. Suicidal people who wish to die cannot speak because
it is unsafe to do so.30 As Szasz (1999, 54–55) observes, suicide prevention
campaigns are not only ineffective but also “counterproductive”: Suicidal
people are prevented from speaking “because of the threats and terrors of
psychiatric incarceration” (emphasis in the original). Diverse testimonials, in-
cluding those of Borges or Paperny quoted at the beginning of this chapter,
illustrate that suicidal people feel unsafe in discussing their suicidal ideation,
rendering prevention strategies useless. As Webb (2011, 59) reminds us, safer
spaces are the key to eliciting open conversations and testimonials: “In order
66 | CH APTER 1
to tell our stories, with all-of-me [sic] fully present, we need a space that is
safe. [ . . . ] All of me cannot be present when the biggest issue on my mind
at the time, my suicidal thoughts, are denied, rejected, or avoided” (emphasis
in the original). Stefan (2016, 107–108), who has interviewed many suicidal
subjects, concludes that suicidal people will not reveal their wishes to anyone
when they are determined to achieve their goal:
[The experiences] of most of the people I interviewed, and abundant

case law, is that many people who kill themselves often plan their
suicides carefully and conceal those plans with great success from
the people who know them best, including friends and family. The
people I interviewed were unanimous in saying that the more deter-
mined they were to kill themselves, the more they concealed their
intentions from the people in their lives.
Statistics confirm this reality: Suicidal people hide to end their lives.31
Testimonials from suicidal people also confirm this reality (Krebs 2022).
For example, Cortez Wright (2018), a self-identified Black fat nonbinary
queer femme, shows how quickly suicidal people learn how to lie and “shut
up” about their suicidal ideation to avoid negative consequences, particularly
when they belong to marginalized communities: “I called a suicide-preven-
tion hotline, not quite realizing that sometimes ‘suicide prevention’ looks like
emergency vehicles and mandatory hospital stays when all you want, all you
need, is to talk. Making mostly false promises of personal safety, I ended the
phone call and learned to shut up about wanting to die.” This concealment
is particularly the case for those who live, like Wright, at the intersection of
many oppressions, since the interlocking effects of suicidism with racism,
heterosexism, cisgenderism, ableism, and so on have huge consequences on
their lives. As LeMaster (2022, 2) states, “I have been suicidal for most of my
life [ . . . ]. From this early age, I learned to mask suicidality and to re-route
those ‘bad feelings’ toward things ‘normal kids’ enjoyed [ . . . ]. The prescrip-
tion to be/come ‘normal’ (read: to embody the trappings of White cishetero-
sexist ableism), as a suicidal mixed-race Asian/White trans femme, simply
intensified the desire to disappear [ . . . ].” Research projects on innovative
programs to support suicidal people, such as discharged in Australia, which
offers peer support for trans people and guarantees a safe space to discuss
suicidality without the preoccupation of clinical forced interventions, also
support such statements (Radford, Wishart, and Martin 2019).
Suicidal people do not speak because they fear the negative consequences
of doing so in a suicidist environment. Indeed, as empirical research shows,
S uicidism | 67
suicidal people, like those considered “mad” and “crazy,” are institutional-
ized/incarcerated and drugged against their will, excluded from insurance
programs, are not hired for new jobs or fired from their current ones, are
expelled from university campuses, have their parenting rights revoked, are
seen as incapable of sound judgment and consenting to health care, and are
subject to other unfair treatments.32 To create safer spaces in which suicidal
people can express themselves, one of the first and most important steps is to
acknowledge the systemic oppression they experience and the microaggres-
sions they face. Without this recognition, a safer space is moot. Just as “safer
spaces” for disabled people that would deny the existence of ableism could
not be considered safe, safer spaces for suicidal people that ignore suicidism
and its various ramifications, such as its injunction to live and to futurity, are
not spaces that invite suicidal people to openly discuss their experiences. Al-
though some authors have suggested that an open-minded approach allowing
suicidal subjects to speak freely may be an effective method of prevention,33
the fact that such an approach has the ultimate goal of preventing as many
suicides as possible paradoxically sends the message that suicide is always a
bad choice. In sum, a suicidist preventionist script is at work in the various
models of suicidality, including the social justice approach. As scholars Lisa
M. Wexler and Joseph P. Gone (2016, 65) state in the volume Critical Suici-
dology, “The need and desire for effective suicide prevention is uncontested.
How to practice this best is the question.” It is exactly this “uncontested”
truth about the necessity of prevention that I question in this book, arguing
that the suicidist preventionist script relies on unexamined assumptions per-
ceived as truths that force suicidal subjects into silence.
Indeed, suicidal people are encouraged to share their emotions and sui-
cidal ideation but are quickly discouraged from pursuing any reflections that
would legitimize suicide as a valid option. In other words, distress, suicidal-
ity, and suicidal ideation may be explored, but suicide itself as an act remains
taboo. As a result, suicidal people must live and die in secrecy. Furthermore,
whatever explanations suicidal people may provide to justify their wish to
die are deemed irrational or illegitimate and construed as wishes that must
be eradicated through medical, psychological, or sociopolitical remedies. As
journalist Graeme Bayliss (2016) argues, suicidal people like him are in a
lose-lose situation regarding their self-determination and competence34 to
make decisions: “I don’t want to live, but the very fact that I don’t want to live
means I can’t possibly consent to die.” This silencing is especially paradoxical
in relation to contemporary discourses on suicidality and suicide prevention
campaigns, such as “Speak Up, Reach Out,” “Let’s Talk about It,” or “Let’s
Talk,” which urge suicidal people to share their thoughts. In other words,
68 | CH APTER 1
suicide prevention campaigns send a paradoxical message to suicidal people

in the form of “Speak up . . . no, don’t,” encouraging them to speak up about
feeling suicidal but not to express thoughts contrary to the suicidist preven-
tionist script. With this issue in mind, I ask: What happens when we question
dominant conceptualizations of suicidality and look at them from another
perspective? Which new interventions are made possible? What kinds of safer
spaces can be created? Which voices need to be listened to for the creation of
those safer spaces?
1.2.3. Ghostly Perspectives: Suicidal People’s (Absent) Voices

Inspired by theorist Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak’s (1988) canonical question
“Can the subaltern speak?,” I ask: Can the suicidal subject speak?35 The an-
swer is no, or not really. Just as Spivak demonstrates that the subaltern not
only has fewer chances to speak in a colonialist world but is often unheard
and regarded as lacking in credibility, I argue that suicidal people, in a sui-
cidist world, experience various forms of silencing. When they dare to speak,
they often are not heard, are delegitimized, and suffer suicidist consequenc-
es. Suicidal people’s voices are often absent from discussions on suicidality
because they are reduced to silence by a plethora of mechanisms inherent
to the suicidist preventionist script. Their ghostly/absent perspectives arise
from structural suicidist violence as well as from forms of (self-)silencing
induced by this oppression. In addition to silencing suicidal subjects, other
related forms of oppression are produced by the four models of suicidality,
which contribute to the absence of suicidal people’s voices from discourses
on suicidality: (1) erasing suicidal people, (2) dismissing the value of suicidal
people’s voices, and (3) speaking for or in the name of suicidal people.
First, suicidal people are often simply erased or forgotten in publications
that should include them. I am thinking here about some fields of study at
the heart of this book, such as critical disability studies and Mad studies.
While scholars in those fields have been quite vocal in assisted suicide de-
bates, the topic of suicide has remained undertheorized, as I discuss further
in Chapter 3. Second, traditional suicidology, with its positivist stance and its
tendency to recognize the legitimacy of only experts and scientists, dismisses
suicidal people’s credibility by simply not including them in the hundreds of
thousands of publications on suicidality.36 As Webb (2011, 24) illustrates, “As
I studied the [ . . . ] discipline known as ‘suicidology,’ what first jumped out
at me was the almost complete absence of the actual suicidal person. [ . . . ]
You never heard directly from the suicidal person in their own words. The
first-person voice of those who had actually lived the experience of suicidal
S uicidism | 69
feelings was apparently not on the agenda of suicidology.” Some suicidology

scholars believe that suicidal people cannot be seen as experts on their reality
because they have a “distorted view” of it.37 Other scholars, who self-identify
as part of the critical turn in suicidology, argue that, while interesting and rel-
evant, first-person accounts about suicide cannot be seen as truth or as more
important than any other explanations of suicidality. This view is the case for
scholars Jason Bantjes and Leslie Swartz (2019, 7) who write:
First, perception and attribution are imperfect processes, memories

are dynamic and imperfect, and people are sometimes ignorant of the
social and intrapsychic forces that shape their actions. Consequently,
any narrative of nonfatal suicidal behavior is at best a partial account
and there are limits to what truths can be inferred from these narra-
tives. [ . . . ] We need to be circumspect about what we claim to know
from narratives or what they can teach us.
I take sincere issue with the rapid dismissal of suicidal people’s perspec-
tives and voices in theorizations about their realities; such an attitude would
be considered offensive if similar discourses were held about women and the
irrelevance of their first-person accounts regarding women’s issues. Dariusz
Galasiński (2017, 174), who analyzes suicide notes from a critical suicidology
perspective, contends that sometimes such notes can be “deceptive, manipu-
lative or at least strategic [ . . . ] [and] be the last opportunity to score one, to
take revenge, to get one’s own back.” Galasiński rightly points out that sui-
cide notes, like any other texts, are not necessarily transparent and can have
“hidden” (175) agendas. While such notes should not be considered simple
truths, it is equally important not to dismiss the value of suicidal people’s
voices in their final attempts to communicate their reality. We should not
override their messages by filtering them through a suicidist lens of interpre-
tation. In other words, although we cannot take for granted that such mes-
sages tell the entire “truth,” we should refrain from imposing our own vision
on those notes.
Third, a more subtle form of oppression that contributes to the relative
absence of suicidal people’s voices in discussions around suicidality consists
in speaking for or in the name of suicidal people. Linda Martín Alcoff discusses
the importance of questioning the circumstances and ways in which we speak
for others. Without reducing the debates surrounding these issues to iden-
tity politics, and without trying to police who should be allowed to speak
in the name of others, Alcoff (1991, 24) proposes “four sets of interrogatory
practices” to guide ethical and respectful practices when speaking for, or in
70 | CH APTER 1
the name of, marginalized groups. My comment is less about who should
be allowed to speak about suicidality and more about how sometimes some
scholars discuss suicidality for or in the name of suicidal people. Fascinat-
ingly, even in a field characterized by critical thinking and a commitment to
anti-oppressive approaches, specialists of all kinds (e.g., scholars, health care
professionals, activists) often feel entitled to speak in the name of suicidal
people, having had little or no dialogue with the people concerned. For ex-
ample, most of the contributions to the two key edited collections highlight-
ing the social justice model, Suicide and Social Justice and Critical Suicidology,
are written by people who do not publicly self-identify as suicidal, despite the
editors’ stated aim to include “first-person perspectives” (Button and Marsh
2020, 10) and “the contributions of [ . . . ] those with lived experience of sui-
cidality” (White et al. 2016b, 9). In Critical Suicidology, only two contribu-
tions in the section “Insider Perspectives” constitute first-person voices of ex-
suicidal people, out of a total of thirteen chapters in the volume. Not only are
the majority of the contributions in this volume supplied by “outsiders,” but
giving priority to ex-suicidal people rather than to those who are currently
suicidal is an epistemological choice that influences the reflections presented
in the book.38 Despite the fact that some of the editors of this volume sensi-
tively insist in their own work on the importance of hearing directly from the
people primarily concerned by suicidality, the volume as it stands does not
include the voices of self-identified suicidal people. To use an analogy, if an
edited volume on trans health mainly featured authors publicly identifying
as cisgender, and the insider perspectives in the book were written by social
workers intervening with trans people, parents of trans people, and ex-trans
(or detrans) people, I would question the erasure of trans people’s voices. This
example is but one of the limits of current critical suicidology; while many
scholars sincerely want to invite more people into the conversation, the power
relations between suicidal and nonsuicidal people often remain intact.
To increase the number of first-person voices in critical suicidology, a few
researchers have begun to examine suicide notes from completed suicides.39
This groundbreaking approach provides key information about suicidality
from an insider perspective. While I applaud these initiatives, often emerg-
ing from historical perspectives, it would also seem beneficial to pay more
attention to these voices while people are still alive.40 In sum, in all four
models of suicidality, including the social justice model, the preventionist
goal raises the question of “Why suicide?” to answer the question of “How
can we prevent it?” The simplest solution would be to change the approach
focused on prevention to one focused on accompaniment and to ask suicidal
people the following questions: What are the biggest barriers and difficulties
S uicidism | 71
you face? How can we help you? Surprisingly, most scholars still do not fol-
low the trend initiated by researchers studying people’s suicide notes in order
to place the voices of the people most concerned at the center of that field of
knowledge. While a few have started to do so, more work needs to be done.
1.2.4. The Injunction to Live and to Futurity:

The Complex Web of Suicidism and Sanism
These three limitations of the models of suicidality—namely, (1) seeing sui-
cidality as a problem that needs to be fixed, (2) silencing suicidal people
through a suicidist preventionist script, and (3) rendering their voices and
perspectives invisible or irrelevant in discussions on suicidality—are an-
chored in two distinct but intertwined systems of oppression: suicidism and
sanism.41 Sanism, also called “mentalism” (LeFrançois, Menzies, and Reaume
2013; Lewis 2013), is a form of mental ableism directed against people who
are cognitively/mentally/psychologically/emotionally disabled or who are per-
ceived as having a mental disability/illness, as is often the case with suicidal
subjects. As discussed by authors in Mad studies, Mad people are often per-
ceived as irrational and incompetent (legally or otherwise) to make important
decisions; their perceived or actual mental health issues/mental disabilities are
used to deny their credibility as speakers and their legitimacy in expressing
their wishes (Leblanc and Kinsella 2016; Liegghio 2013). In ableist, sanist,
and cogniticist regimes, mental competency, decision-making capacity, and
autonomy are skewed based on cognonormative standards and narrow per-
ceptions of what constitutes an autonomous, rational, and capable subject
(Baril et al. 2020). Only those who are categorized as mentally, emotionally,
and cognitively stable are deemed competent enough to make crucial deci-
sions about their life and death.
In his critical analysis of suicide, Marsh (2010b, 221) contends that mad-
ness or insanity and suicide were construed together in the nineteenth century:
It was argued that medical discourses on insanity and suicide emerged

in relation to each other, as suicide came to be defined by reference to
insanity and, reciprocally, insanity by reference to suicide. [ . . . ] The
constituting of suicide through a discourse on insanity also had a re-
ciprocal effect in that notions of insanity came to be, in part, defined
by reference to medically formulated truths of suicide.
While Marsh does not theorize suicidism and therefore does not say that
an analysis of madness would be incomplete without reference to suicidality,
72 | CH APTER 1
based on his meticulous historical demonstration, I believe that suicidism

and sanism are interlocked and cannot be studied in silo. Therefore, analyz-
ing madness, sanism, and the forms of violence experienced by Mad people
without simultaneously taking into consideration the ways suicidal people
are perceived and treated and the role suicidism plays in the constitution of
sanism leaves gaps in our understanding of sanism and madness—hence the
importance of not erasing suicidal people, suicidality, and suicidism within
disability/Mad studies. Conversely, most scholars in (critical) suicidology,
regardless of which model of suicidality they endorse, do not engage at all,
or engage only very briefly, with the rich reflections proposed by disability/
Mad studies. In other words, forms of ableism and sanism are at the core of
suicidal people’s experiences, but the theoretical tools developed in disability/
Mad studies are underdeployed by (critical) suicidologists. I therefore invite
critical suicidologists to engage more seriously with disability/Mad studies
and disability/Mad studies activists/scholars to include suicidality and sui-
cidism in their theoretical and political agendas.
Indeed, suicidal people face deep forms of sanism, condemning them to
a life/death of silence for two main reasons. First, their desire to die is often
perceived as irrational from a sanist approach, which assumes that suicidal
people suffer from a mental illness that clouds their judgment and invali-
dates their competence to consent to a voluntary death.42 Suicidal people are
considered “insane” and “crazy” to choose death over life. In that context, as
Joiner (2005, 19) observes, because “suicide is irreversible, [ . . . ] everything
possible should be done to prevent it.” For Joiner and many others, “every-
thing” includes laws to protect vulnerable people against themselves, allow-
ing involuntary hospitalizations and forced medical treatments. In the Ca-
nadian context (as in many other countries), suicidality is unusual in that an
adult considered otherwise legally competent is invariably denied the right to
refuse medical treatment, a right usually taken for granted for all legally com-
petent individuals (Bach and Kerzner 2010; Cavaghan 2017). For example,
dying cancer patients or religious people who refuse life-saving treatments,
such as blood transfusions, have the right to refuse medical treatments, even
though such a refusal may lead to death, but suicidal people do not have
that privilege, and their right to refuse treatment after a suicide attempt is
legally revoked because they are temporarily deemed mentally incompetent
due to their suicidality.43 In addition, while anti-oppression activists/scholars
are usually averse to pathological, individualistic explanations, they often
accept them with regard to suicidal individuals.44 Second, although suicidal
people are not always perceived by anti-oppression activists/scholars as “mad”
or “crazy,” their agency is nevertheless often invalidated and their judgment
S uicidism | 73
considered biased by oppressive systems, and the result of this delegitimiza-

tion is similar: They are considered too alienated and not in a good position
to make decisions about their life and death. Indeed, the desire to die is
delegitimized because suicide is seen as an illegitimate response to social and
political suffering. As a result, many anti-oppression activists/scholars, who
are otherwise critical thinkers, tend to endorse without questioning the laws,
regulations, and prevention strategies that aim to protect vulnerable people
from themselves. Chapters 2 and 3 demonstrate the ways in which this ap-
proach is true of many queer, trans, disabled, and Mad activists/scholars.
Intertwined with their experiences of sanism, suicidal people must also
endure suicidism, which is anchored more generally in biopower and its in-
terest in maximizing the life of the population (Foucault 1976, 1994, 1997,
2001, 2004a, 2004b). Like any other system of oppression, suicidism works
on many levels simultaneously (e.g., social, cultural, political, legal, medical,
religious, economic, epistemic, and normative), through various structures
and mechanisms, including norms and moral injunctions, such as the “in-
junction to live and to futurity,” as theorized in my earlier work (Baril 2017,
2018, 2020b, 2020c, 2022). The injunction to live and to futurity influences
the social, political, cultural, medical, and legal spheres and underlies the
discourses of suicidology and critical suicidology. This injunction is based
on the presumption that life should be preserved, often at almost any cost,
except when the subjects are deemed unproductive or irrecuperable from a
neoliberal, capitalist, ageist, ableist, or sanist point of view, as I demonstrate
in Chapter 4. Emily Krebs (2022, 38), who used suicidism as a theoretical
framework while studying the narratives of 140 suicidal people that are pub-
licly available through the online art-activism project called Live Through
This (LTT), concludes that “though the narrators do not use the term ‘sui-
cidism,’ almost all of them describe this type of violence, and name coun-
tering the resulting isolation and harm as their motivation of telling these
stories.” As Krebs meticulously demonstrates, suicidism is encountered by
suicidal people in all spheres of their life and in their various interactions—
with family, with the health care system, with the legal system, and with so-
cial policies in general. Krebs notes that these forms of suicidism are founded
on the imperative to stay alive that is imposed upon suicidal subjects.
I contend that it is important to theorize the injunction to live and to fu-
turity imposed upon suicidal subjects as a mechanism that is part of a broader
normative system of intelligibility, as is the case with the injunction to able-
bodiedness or able-mindedness that makes able-bodyminds45 the only nor-
mal, desirable option in our societies. When it comes to suicide, while a wide
range of conceptualizations exist, almost all, astoundingly, reach the same
74 | CH APTER 1
conclusion: Don’t do it. It is fruitful to consider this conclusion as being in-

fluenced by an injunction to live and to futurity that is at work in what I first
called “compulsory liveness” (Baril 2020c) in a suicidist system, similar to
compulsory heterosexuality in a heterosexist system (Butler 1990; Rich 1980)
or compulsory able-bodiedness or able-mindedness in an ableist and sanist
system (Kafer 2013; McRuer 2006). I now reframe the notion of compulsory
liveness as compulsory aliveness, which I find more self-explanatory. Compul-
sory aliveness could be defined as the normative component of suicidist oppression,
and this normative dimension is composed of various injunctions (or imperatives),
including the injunction to live and to futurity. In other words, suicidism, in its
normative aspect, takes the form of compulsory aliveness. Compulsory aliveness,
as an apparatus, functions through a wide array of tools and mechanisms, such
as laws, regulations, attitudes, discourses, and imperatives. The injunction to
live and to futurity, as a social, cultural, medical, religious, and even legal im-
perative, is simply one way through which compulsory aliveness regulates the life/
death of individuals and the population as a whole. I contend that compulsory
aliveness aims to impose a will to live and makes some people’s desire/need
for death abnormal, inconceivable, and unintelligible, except sometimes for
those who are disabled/sick/ill/old, in which case the desire/need for death is
considered normal and rebranded as medical assistance in dying or physician-
assisted death (see Chapter 4). As a dominant system of intelligibility within
a suicidist regime, compulsory aliveness masks its own historicity and mecha-
nisms of operation, which give life an apparently stable and natural charac-
ter but arise from a performative statement about the desire to live that is
constantly iterated in various discourses, including preventionist discourses.
In the introduction to his seminal book on crip theory, Robert McRuer de-
nounces the constant interrogation of disabled people by able-bodied people
about their supposed desire to be “normal.” McRuer (2006, 9) argues, “The
culture asking such questions assumes in advance that we all agree: able-
bodied perspectives are preferable and are what we are collectively seeking. A
system of compulsory able-bodiedness repeatedly demands that people with
disabilities embody for others an affirmative answer to the unspoken ques-
tion, ‘Yes, but in the end, wouldn’t you rather be more like me?’”46
Compulsory aliveness operates in the same way: Nonsuicidal people
are constantly wondering why suicidal people are suicidal and what can be
changed (in them or in society) so the latter may conform to nonsuicidal
norms. Influenced by an implicit injunction to live and to futurity present
within the compulsory aliveness apparatus, we constantly ask suicidal people:
“But in the end, wouldn’t you rather be more like me, someone who wants to
S uicidism | 75
live a long life and enjoy living it?” I believe that some, if not most, suicidal
people might answer this question positively. I contend that the wish for a
cure to suicidality is not necessarily suicidist, particularly not when coming
from the suicidal person, but it needs to be resituated in the broader context
of how suicidality is almost always framed as something to fix. Therefore,
even though some suicidal people want to be “fixed,” the assumption that all
suicidal people would answer affirmatively or, as McRuer says, to “assume in
advance that we all agree” is problematic. For many people, it is simply in-
comprehensible that someone could answer, “No, thanks, I don’t want to be
cured. I don’t want to be fixed. I don’t want to wait for the social revolution
that will eradicate the oppression that makes me suffer. . . . I just want to die
now. I have lived enough. I don’t care if my life is over. This is what I want.”
Like the Deaf, disabled, Mad, and crip people who have told and continue
to tell us that they don’t want the “ideal solutions” offered by mainstream
societies (e.g., cochlear implants, cures, or treatments) but instead want their
voices, perspectives, needs, and claims to be respected and supported (Clare
2009, 2017), suicidal people should not have preconceived solutions devised
by those who do not experience their reality imposed upon them. Further-
more, as Alison Kafer (2013, 29) mentions, by “focusing always on the better
future, we divert our attention from the here and now.” By insisting on the
promising futurity of suicidal people, we paradoxically erase their future as
some of them would like it to be (i.e., ended) and dismiss their voices, con-
cerns, perspectives, and wishes of nonfuturity. Following McRuer’s (2006,
10) statement on “ability trouble,” in the spirit of Judith Butler’s (1990) “gen-
der trouble,” I argue that suicidal people’s voices and claims, in this context,
pose a “life trouble” by unmasking compulsory aliveness imposed upon all
human beings. Additionally, as McRuer (2006, 31) contends about the en-
twined dimensions of compulsory heterosexuality and compulsory able-bod-
iedness, I argue that compulsory aliveness and compulsory able-bodiedness
and able-mindedness are deeply intertwined.
Extending Sara Ahmed’s (2010) and Ann Cvetkovich’s (2012) arguments
on the deleterious effects on marginalized groups of the injunction to happi-
ness, I believe that we should analyze the impacts of the injunction to live and
to futurity and of compulsory aliveness on suicidal people, including those
who live at the nexus of multiple oppressions.47 Their effects are pervasive and
invasive, as evidenced by the treatments forced on suicidal people. Although
Mad scholars have not discussed the forced psychiatric treatments imposed
specifically on suicidal people (with the exception of Burstow 1992), the long
legacy of Mad activism and scholarship denouncing forced treatments for
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Mad people, including incarceration, restraints, involuntary hospitalization,

and chemical (e.g., drugs) and physical (e.g., electroshock) treatments, has
taught us that these treatments are, in fact, experienced as forms of violence
by many people.48 For example, mechanical restraints are often accompa-
nied by other questionable practices, causing people to feel violated, a term
used by participants in a study by scholar Jean Daniel Jacob and colleagues
(2018), such as the removal of clothing, which is sometimes even directly cut
off the body with scissors; the denial of washroom access; and forced bedpan
or catheter use. Many women in psychiatric settings are held and stripped
by health care professionals, injected with drugs against their will, and feel
raped, humiliated, and (re)traumatized (Burstow 1992; Jacob et al. 2018).
Compulsory aliveness and the injunction to live and to futurity are close-
ly linked to disciplinary power, a form of power exercised at the individual
level on the body of the subject, and biopower, an apparatus of power that
aims to protect and maximize the life of the population as a group (Foucault
1997, 2001, 2004a, 2004b).49 In the current neoliberal era, compulsory alive-
ness and the injunction to live and to futurity not only serve to make the
bodies of suicidal subjects docile (e.g., refraining from engaging in suicidal
actions, self-harm, or risky behaviors) or to preserve and maximize the life of
a population but also keep potentially productive subjects alive for the benefit
of a nation.50 In that sense, as I argue in Chapters 2, 3, and 4, compulsory
aliveness and its various injunctions are part of a wide array of technologies
representing what I call “somatechnologies of life,” enmeshed in the living
body (Baril 2017). I argue that compulsory aliveness and the injunction to
live and to futurity, in combination with suicidism and sanism, force us into
an unaccountable and uncompassionate approach to suicidality. We push
people to complete their suicide without having had the chance to express/
explore their suicidal thoughts with others for fear of negative consequences.
We rewrite the lives and deaths of suicidal subjects through our dominant
scripts of understanding suicidality and suicidal notes, and we speak on their
behalf in our public discussions, policies, and regulations.
1.3. Alternative Conceptualizations of Suicidality
1.3.1. Philosophical Perspectives on Suicide

As discussed earlier, the presumption that suicide is only a problem to prevent
must be situated in a broader historical, geographical, social, and cultural
context. Alternative conceptualizations of suicidality have existed for centu-
S uicidism | 77
ries (Battin 2015), despite the predominance of the preventionist script. For
example, Nelly Arcan (2004, 2008), a Canadian author and columnist who
died by suicide in 2009, endorses a position on suicide that differs from those
depicted so far. Arcan envisions suicide as a radical liberty, echoing a philo-
sophical view that has been expressed throughout history by philosophers
and writers, such as Simon Critchley (2019), who offers a nonmoralizing
view on suicide as a freedom and a choice that should not be condemned.
History is replete with philosophers (e.g., Seneca, Nietzsche, and Sartre) for
whom suicide was a possibility under specific circumstances or philosophical
schools of thought, such as libertarian or existentialist, which defend suicide
as a liberty or a right (Cholbi 2011; Marsh 2010b, 2016; Tierney 2006, 2010).
As philosopher Michael Cholbi (2017, section 3.4) contends, the right to
suicide is generally perceived as a right of noninterference instead of a right
involving active obligations and duties from others:
Libertarianism typically asserts that the right to suicide is a right of

noninterference; to wit, that others are morally barred from interfer-
ing with suicidal behavior. Some assert the stronger claim that the
right to suicide is a liberty right, such that individuals have no duty to
forego suicide (i.e., that suicide violates no moral duties), or a claim
right, according to which other individuals may be morally obliged
not only not to interfere with a person’s suicidal behavior but to assist
in that behavior. (emphasis in the original)
As Cholbi notes, this last definition of the right to suicide, formulated as

a “claim right,” is usually (I would say always, based on the literature con-
sulted) formulated in the context of the debates surrounding assisted suicide
in cases of disability/sickness/illness or old age. Claiming that kind of right
to suicide in those specific circumstances is different than claiming a right
to suicide for suicidal people, as I do in Chapter 5, based on a critique of the
suicidist violation of suicidal people’s rights and a critique of the ableist/san-
ist/ageist foundations of current right-to-die discourses.
Michel Foucault is the philosopher who comes closest to advocating for
a claim right to suicide in his short texts on the subject: two memoirs about
people who completed suicide, a short piece titled “The Simplest of Plea-
sures” and an interview published in the journal Sécurité sociale.51 According
to Taylor (2014, 18), “Foucault occasionally mentions suicide as a form of
resistance to power, or at least as a minimum requirement for a relation of
power to exist. Power necessarily entails the possibility for resistance, even if
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the only available act of resistance is suicide.” Foucault also believes, beyond
this individual possibility of resisting power relations, that suicide could be
collectivized. Taylor (2014, 19) writes:
Foucault also imagines the creation of places that would facilitate

suicides, but this time he speaks of commercial establishments [ . . . ]:
there would be salespeople who would customize suicides accord-
ing to the client’s wishes and “style,” and there would be a screening
process such that “only those potential suicides which are committed
with forethought, quietly and without wavering” would be supported
(Foucault 1994b, 778–779).
In one interview, Foucault (2001, 1186–1201) also mentions that if he

could, he would create an institute where suicidal people could come for a
few days or weeks to spend the last moments of their life in an enjoyable sur-
rounding and to die by suicide in good conditions instead of atrocious ones.
When asked whether he is referring to a right to suicide, Foucault answers
in the affirmative. However, his lack of elaboration prevents us from know-
ing his position with certainty, and his claim to the right to suicide remains
unclear.
A contemporary philosopher who addresses the question of suicide more
thoroughly, and who terminated his own life by suicide in 1978, is Jean
Améry. His book, titled On Suicide: A Discourse on Voluntary Death ([1976]
1999), is a philosophical essay on what he calls voluntary death, a term he uses
instead of suicide: “I prefer to speak of voluntary death, knowing well that
the act itself is sometimes—frequently—brought into being by a condition of
urgent compulsion. As a way of death, however, voluntary death is still freely
chosen even when one is trapped in a vise of compulsions” (Améry 1999, 1–2;
emphasis in the original). Améry calls for a depathologization of suicidality
and claims that voluntary death is an individual choice everyone should be
able to make. Particularly interesting is Améry’s examination of voluntary
death from the perspectives of suicidal people themselves. Améry develops
what I call a suicidal epistemological standpoint, in which knowledge of suicid-
ality is developed based on the authority of those who experience it. Améry
(1999, 13) argues that voluntary death contradicts what he calls “the logic of
life”: “Anyone who wants to commit suicide is breaking out, out of the logic
of life [ . . . ]. The logic of life is prescribed for us, or ‘programmed,’ if you
wish, in every daily reaction. It has gone into our daily language. ‘In the long
run, you’ve got to live,’ people say [ . . . ]. But do you have to live?” (emphasis
in the original). It is worth mentioning that none of the philosophers or phil-
S uicidism | 79
osophical stances I have read in my ten years of training in philosophy, even

the libertarian defense of the right to die by suicide, has theorized suicidism;
the closest is the denunciation of the “logic of life” described here by Améry,
but his theorization remains on the individual and personal levels. It is also
important to note, as Cholbi does (2011, 2017), that except for the libertar-
ians, all other positions on suicide suggest intervening, at least minimally,
with suicidal people to prevent suicide. While some of these positions pro-
pose noncoercive intervention methods, such as encouraging suicidal people
to change their minds, others are quite coercive.
My goal in the remaining discussion regarding alternative conceptualiza-
tions of suicidality is not to present an exhaustive portrait of activists and au-
thors endorsing them, a task beyond the scope of this chapter, but to introduce
key authors proposing alternative views on suicide, whose positions I then
critique.52 As I demonstrate, despite their radical ideas regarding suicidality
and even, in some cases, their denunciation of suicidal people’s mistreatment,
none has thus far theorized the oppression faced by suicidal people from an
anti-oppressive approach or proposed a positive right to assisted suicide for
suicidal people (as opposed to a negative right or a liberty to suicide), as I do.
However, I contend that if we recognize that suicidal people are systematically
mistreated, we must also recognize that they constitute a marginalized group.
If this view is correct, giving them the liberty to act as they wish without sup-
porting them does nothing to combat the oppression they face.
1.3.2. Thomas Szasz and the Radical Liberty of Suicide

Libertarian philosopher and psychiatrist Thomas Szasz (1999, 2008) believes
that suicidal people are discriminated against by society, psychiatry, the law,
and the state. He contends that suicide constitutes a fundamental act of in-
dividual liberty, which is violated by the state’s suicide prevention measures:
“The option of killing oneself is intrinsic to human life [ . . . ]. We are born
involuntarily. Religion, psychiatry, and the State insist that we die the same
way. That is what makes dying voluntarily the ultimate freedom. We have just
as much right and responsibility to regulate how we die as we have to regulate
how we live” (Szasz 1999, 130; emphasis in the original). Known for his strong
critiques of psychiatry, Szasz hopes to extract suicidality from the hands of
psychiatrists and physicians, as he does not believe that suicidality is a mental
illness.53 While Szasz develops a thesis similar to mine—namely, that suicide
may be an option—he does so from a libertarian and neoliberal (capitalist)
point of view with which I strongly disagree. Therefore, although we begin
from the same thesis, we arrive at different conclusions, as my anti-oppressive
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approach to suicide engages in critiquing dominant systems, such as neoliber-

alism, capitalism, classism, ableism, sanism, and ageism. Furthermore, while
Szasz is strongly opposed to any support being offered to suicidal people by
the medical system or the state, I suggest, from an anti-oppressive approach
developed in Chapter 5, that suicidal people, as an oppressed group, should
be entitled to have their wishes supported by the medical system and the state.
While suicide is no longer considered a crime, Szasz maintains that every-
thing that surrounds suicidality remains criminalized and punishable, based
on moralistic views. Szasz (1999, 19–20) discusses the distinction between de
jure equality and de facto equality: While the former refers to the legal aspect
of equality, the latter refers to its materialization. As demonstrated by Szasz,
and in this chapter thus far, in many countries, suicidal people have de jure
but not de facto equality. Szasz argues that the best proof of this inequality
is that if suicide were really legal, de facto, prevention strategies that violate
basic human rights would not be considered treatments but be illegal. Szasz
(1999, 34) argues that we live “in a Therapeutic State,” in which psychiatry
and its agents have too much power.
Not only does Szasz believe that suicide prevention is inefficient; he be-
lieves that it is counterproductive and a form of violence exercised against
suicidal people. Szasz maintains that individuals should have the liberty to
end their lives without interference. He is, however, strongly opposed to any
state or medical interventions that would provide assisted suicide, as these
measures would be an interference and would give too much power to phy-
sicians, psychiatrists, and the state. In sum, Szasz denounces coercive treat-
ments forced upon suicidal people but does not approve of any forms of sup-
port to help suicidal people accomplish their goal. In philosophical terms,
this stance is the difference between a positive and a negative right. As Szasz
(1999, 108) explains:
By this [a negative right to suicide] I mean that the government ought

to be bound by law [ . . . ] to leave the citizen, as suicidal person,
alone. The difference between a positive right and a negative right
is briefly this: A positive right is a claim on someone else’s goods or
services; in other words, it is a euphemism for an entitlement. Because
the notion of a right to suicide (or physician-assisted suicide) entails an
obligation by others to fulfill the reciprocal duties it entails, I reject
the notion of a “right to suicide.” However, I believe we have—and
ought to be accorded—a “natural right” to be left alone to commit
suicide. A truly humane society would recognize that option as a re-
spected civil right.54 (emphasis in the original)
S uicidism | 81
Based on liberal conceptions of choice, liberty, and autonomy, Szasz sup-

ports a division between the private and public spheres and approves of suicide
only when it is a “private” affair. Thus, he strongly disagrees with assisted sui-
cide, which would bring a private matter that should be dealt with individu-
ally or with the assistance of friends and family into the public sphere. His per-
spective on suicide also situates him within a neoliberal capitalist calculation
logic, where suicides that do not affect society’s productivity are permitted
and perceived as ultimate acts of freedom, while suicides that are potentially
damaging to and costly for society should be condemned and prevented. Szasz
(1999, 113) writes:
The voluntary death of a particular person may be cost-saving, cost-

less, or costly (to family and society). When suicide is cost-saving or
costless, there is no prudential reason for preventing or condemning
it. When it is costly, it may be justifiable to condemn suicide and use
persuasion to prevent it, but it is unjustifiable to resort to coercion to
interfere with it.
Promoting a free market based on neoliberal and capitalist conceptualiza-

tions, Szasz (1999, 2008) does not believe in a universal health care system.
He maintains that free and universally accessible health care is detrimental to
patients and to suicidal people. A strong medical system, according to Szasz
(1999), is one in which individuals pay for their services. Mobilizing a com-
parison to abortion, he believes that the best way to serve patients’ interests
is to dissociate medicine from what he considers to be individual choices.
Therefore, while Szasz proposes one of the first critical reflections on the
violence suicidal people experience at the hands of the state and the psychi-
atric system, his libertarian, neoliberal, and capitalist perspective on suicide
offers scant support for theorizing suicidal people’s oppression from an anti-
oppressive approach. Further to his problematic libertarian and neoliberal
perspectives, Szasz reproduces some troubling ableist and ageist discourses
in his work. He believes, for example, that dying is better than experiencing
disability, reinforcing the long tradition of prejudice against disabled/sick/ill
people: “If we do not want to die a lingering death after a protracted period of
pathetic disability, we must kill ourselves while we can, perhaps earlier than
we might feel ready to do so” (Szasz 1999, 129). Ableism is also apparent in
the language he employs in his book, when, for example, he uses offensive
terms to describe some disabled people. Through his anti-psychiatry lens
that denies the existence of mental illness, Szasz also invalidates the reality
of those who experience mental health issues as a form of mental illness or
82 | CH APTER 1
disability (Mollow 2006; Nicki 2001). Therefore, instead of being theorized

from a positive point of view from anti-ableist and anti-sanist perspectives,
notions of sickness or illness are construed as negative.
1.3.3. Susan Stefan and Discrimination

against Suicidal People
Known for her expertise as a legal scholar and practitioner, Susan Stefan pub-
lished two monographs on law and mental disability before writing her book
Rational Suicide, Irrational Laws (2016). Despite her interest in discrimina-
tion and disability, and even though Stefan’s book on suicide has been influ-
ential in my reflections on suicidality, I find at times that Stefan’s scholarship
lacks critical engagement with disability/Mad studies. For example, in a five-
hundred-plus-page monograph, she never uses terms such as ableism, disab-
lism, sanism, or mentalism, and she sometimes uses problematic expressions,
such as mental retardation (80). Furthermore, despite a compelling demon-
stration of the discrimination faced by suicidal people, through relevant legal
case studies and hundreds of interviews (as well as 240 online surveys) with
current and ex-suicidal people, Stefan paradoxically attaches negativity to
illness and sickness. While trying to disentangle and dissociate most suicides
from mental illness, she casts mental illness as negative (177). Stefan, like
Szasz, not only neglects to conceptualize suicidal people’s lived experiences
as part of systematic oppression but often remarginalizes disabled/ill/sick peo-
ple, as many activists/scholars in social movements have done through their
claims for the depathologization of some marginalized groups (Baril 2015).
Like Szasz, Stefan does not pursue a positive right to suicide. Instead of
supporting suicidal people in their quest, she claims that it is not the duty of
society to help them die. She contends that if they want to die, they should
be allowed to do so without interference (474–475, 486). Stefan (240) is clear
in her position: She does not think that we should allow assisted suicide for
suicidal people or for people living with mental disabilities or unbearable
emotional suffering, which would give too much power to physicians and
would send the wrong message to those populations about the value of their
lives (487). She is against any kind of third-party involvement in suicide
(245). Discussing the viewpoints of several suicidal people she interviewed,
Stefan (xxiv) explains that “the decision to end one’s life, like decisions to re-
fuse treatment or decisions about reproduction, is a civil right, a fundamental
liberty interest, a personal, intimate, and private decision that belongs to the
person alone, which should not be the subject of state intervention.” Stefan’s
book construes suicide as an individual, autonomous, personal, and private
S uicidism | 83
choice and decision, terms she uses abundantly in her book.55 Like Szasz, she
adopts a (neo)liberal and individualist approach,56 despite her repeated call
for structural approaches and community-led initiatives regarding suicide
prevention. She, like Szasz, uses the analogy of abortion and errs on the side
of private and individual actions and negative rights rather than universal
access to abortion (85, 246–247). Stefan believes that, like abortion, suicide
should not be medicalized but be a choice for individuals. But contrary to
her belief that access to abortion should be facilitated, Stefan believes that we
should limit access to the means to end one’s life.
Therefore, while insisting on the importance of destigmatizing suicide
and reducing fears around discussing suicidality, Stefan (240) paradoxically
states that one of the most effective factors in suicide prevention remains fear.
To facilitate suicide would be to encourage suicide, making it too easy to
complete. She even sometimes argues in favor of forms of criminalization: “It
[author’s position] would not preclude a society from banning or criminaliz-
ing suicide, attempted suicide, or assisted suicide. [ . . . ] Nor does it preclude
involuntary commitment for suicidality” (51). To prevent as many suicides
as possible, Stefan critiques current ineffective, coercive prevention strategies
and calls for the development of a “public health approach” (468) comprising
diverse social policies and multisectoral strategies. She contends that current
prevention strategies are probably producing more deaths by suicide than
they prevent because they shut suicidal people down instead of inviting them
to speak openly. She hopes that by destigmatizing suicide and diminishing
the forms of discrimination suicidal people face, we will create safer spaces
to allow people to share their feelings. She insists that prevention strategies,
which could include a variety of methods, such as spiritual intervention, peer
support, and limiting access to the means for suicide, should be based on
“human connection and patient, caring perseverance” (451).
In the “unified field theory of suicide” she offers in her conclusion, Ste-
fan argues that assistance in dying or in completing suicide should be illegal
(496) and that people should be helped to live and not to die (495):
People should have their own decisions about life and death respect-
ed, but they should get help, too—not help to die, but help to change
their lives into lives worth living. For the most part, [suicidal people]
know what they need: to stay in school, to get support taking care
of their children, to be taught a new perspective to frame their prob-
lems and solve them, to get a bit of a break and some rest, and to have
a community that sticks by them for the long, long haul, to have
someone listen. They know what they don’t need: involuntary hos-
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pitalization, getting shot by police, moralizing judgments by people

who don’t have a clue what they’ve been through, and to never be
permitted to actually articulate how terribly they are feeling without
having their drug dosage increased.
According to Stefan, while we need to change suicide prevention meth-

ods and stop discriminating against suicidal people, the status quo should be
upheld when it comes to suicide attempts: We should not actively support sui-
cidal people in completing their suicides, and they should die alone through
regular (violent) suicidal means or hunger strikes if they choose to exercise
their individual autonomy to do so (497).
Contrary to Szasz’s and Stefan’s positions, I believe that, like other mar-
ginalized groups, suicidal people are entitled to receive support and assistance
(i.e., positive rights). To return to the example of abortion, in their critique
of the medical system, Szasz and Stefan err on the side of state disengage-
ment. While I don’t want to infer that abortion and suicide are comparable
practices, the example of abortion illustrates that any rights, such as repro-
ductive rights, are ineffective without the implementation of positive rights
through concrete measures and policies. Decriminalizing abortion, giving a
“negative right” to abort without developing strong social policies, supports,
and institutional services that truly provide universal abortion access, does
not support reproductive justice. The state should have an obligation and
a duty to do everything possible to facilitate access to those services while
simultaneously providing people with positive sexual education and contra-
ceptive measures.
Similarly, I believe that decriminalizing and depathologizing suicide, re-
ducing stigmatization, and requesting that the state and its medical and legal
institutions stop imposing dehumanizing treatments are not enough to support
suicidal people’s rights or to foster social justice for this marginalized group. As
a feminist, trans, disability/Mad, and queer activist/scholar, I adhere to the
same logic for all marginalized groups. I believe that working toward strong
and effective equity for marginalized groups, including suicidal people, is
not limited to preventing state control or direct forms of violence but must
include creating conditions in which marginalized groups have access to the
same opportunities and resources and receive the same social, cultural, politi-
cal, and legal recognition as others. Without encouraging suicide or offering
suicidal people a quick nonreflexive way to end their life, the state should of-
fer assisted suicide as one among several potential options, carefully guiding
and counseling those who are contemplating this possibility, as I propose in
S uicidism | 85
Chapter 5. In this respect, my thesis differs radically from the positions of the au-
thors presented in this chapter so far. The notion of suicidism I develop here from
an anti-oppressive approach aims not only to critique and denounce the oppression
suicidal people face but also to end their oppression through structural remedies
and sociopolitical, legal, medical, economic, and epistemic transformations.
1.3.4. Additional Alternative Perspectives

Scholar and clinician James L. Werth Jr. (1996, 1998, 1999) provides im-
portant contributions on “rational suicide.” In the 1999 edited volume Con-
temporary Perspectives on Rational Suicide, Werth distinguishes rational sui-
cide from assisted suicide, arguing that rational suicide refers to a rational
decision-making process, while assisted suicide refers to help or assistance in
implementing this decision. Werth and numerous contributors in that vol-
ume discuss the notion of rational suicide in the context of sickness, illness,
disability, and (often but not always) end of life; therefore, they are less in-
terested in debates about suicide per se than in debates surrounding assisted
suicide. As I demonstrate in Chapter 4 through critiques of current positions
in favor of assisted suicide, the “rationality” of a suicidal individual appears
to be evaluated differently if that person is old, dying, disabled, or sick rather
than healthy, young, and a potentially productive citizen. In other words,
Werth’s position on rational suicide would likely be different if he were con-
sidering the rationality of a healthy twenty-year-old man who is depressed
and wants to die due to financial difficulties or romantic problems. In addi-
tion to establishing criteria for characterizing a rational suicide (1996, 62), in
other work, Werth (1998) hopes to distinguish between rational and irratio-
nal suicides to prevent the latter. He (1998) believes that characterizing some
suicides as rational will help create a stronger relationship between mental
health professionals and their clients to prevent irrational suicides. According
to Werth (1998, 186), some suicidal clients might be put off by prevention.
Therefore, acknowledging that suicide might be a sound option in some cir-
cumstances, through a nonjudgmental approach to rational suicide, could
help consolidate the trusting relationship between clients and clinicians by
empowering suicidal subjects. As Werth (1998, 186) explains, feeling em-
powered decreases suicidal ideation. However, Werth’s ultimate goal remains
suicide prevention, and the logic of a rational suicide remains anchored in
what I call in Chapter 4 the ableist/sanist/ageist/suicidist ontology of assisted
suicide, characterizing suicides as rational only in the context of a hopeless
condition, be it physical or psychological. Werth (1998, 187) makes clear
86 | CH APTER 1
that the only thing he is suggesting is an improved process for screening and
distinguishing different types of suicidal people to improve current suicide
prevention strategies.
On another note, in a post on the now-closed HuffPost Contributor plat-
form and titled “How Being Black & Queer Made Me Unapologetically Sui-
cidal,” activist/scholar T. Anansi Wilson (2016) situates their depression and
desire for death as resulting from systemic forms of violence and structural
oppressions, including racism, classism, and heterosexism. Wilson affirms that
living, or living in sufficiently decent conditions, is a privilege that margin-
alized groups lack. Like authors who approach suicide from a social justice
perspective, Wilson frames suicide as a form of self-murder resulting from the
slow death imposed on marginalized groups. Yet contrary to many proponents
of the social justice model who inscribe their work in a preventionist script,
Wilson (2016, para. 7) contends that suicide could become the queer action
par excellence, a revolutionary act of rebellion against oppressive systems:
Suicide[,] then, can be revolutionary. Life can only be privileged when

it is more than mere survival. This is not a call for folks who are strug-
gling with depression to kill themselves. This is a call to critically ex-
amine what suicide does and does not mean across experiences. It is a
call to think about how life is weaponized as a sure-fire way to access,
surveil and monetize oppressed bodies.
Wilson invites us to think about how, in this colonialist, racist, and capi-
talist culture in which some bodies are disposable, suicide could be concep-
tualized as an individual and collective form of resistance to the commodi-
fication and exploitation of the bodies and lives of marginalized groups. As
we can see from the excerpt, the author of this post does not romanticize
suicide but offers an alternative view on suicide, one that goes beyond its
dominant conceptualization as a bad choice for marginalized subjects. Al-
though Wilson adopts an anti-oppressive approach, the conceptualization of
suicide as a revolutionary act still relies partially on an individualist notion
of choice. Wilson’s work is not apolitical—quite the contrary—but, in their
text, death by suicide remains a private action, not one that entails positive
rights for suicidal people. In the spirit of the feminist tradition, I believe that
the personal is political and that the act of suicide should never be seen as
an individual decision to be enacted alone; rather, it needs to be collectiv-
ized and politicized—not only to reveal the connections between suicidality
and sociopolitical structures but also to develop accountable and collective
responses to suicidal people, as I hope to do here.
S uicidism | 87
Activist and community organizer Wright offers a similar perspective to

that of Wilson in a 2018 blog post titled “Learning to Live with Wanting to
Die.” Wright also discusses their struggle with depression as stemming from
forms of oppression they experienced while growing up: fatphobia, sexism,
racism, heterosexism, and cisgenderism. Wright denounces the inefficiency of
current management strategies for depression and suicidality, which are based
mostly on medical and individual solutions. Committed to an anti-oppressive
approach, Wright questions the double standard regarding the celebration of
diversity for a wide variety of marginalized groups and the silence that seems
to prevail regarding mentally ill people. Wright contends that it is important
to fight the stigma surrounding suicidality because the silence is more danger-
ous than is suicidal ideation itself. Wright also promotes alternative discourses
on suicidality that go beyond curative ideology and recovery and calls for an
acceptance of suicidal ideation, even though they do not push the reflection
as far as suggesting that we should support suicidal people through positive
rights.57
The authors presented in this section who adopt alternative conceptu-
alizations of suicide offer a number of invaluable contributions, yet their
theorizations do not propose a comprehensive framework to theorize and
denounce suicidism. While some insist on the advantages of allowing sui-
cidal people to speak more freely to save more lives, they do not question the
injunction to live and to futurity underlying the suicide prevention strategies
they seek to reform or transform. Furthermore, none argues for the necessity
of a positive right to suicide involving a duty to support people in their quest
to die. Despite their denunciation of cruel treatments reserved for suicidal
people, their call to end the marginalization experienced by suicidal people,
and their theorizations of suicide as a choice, none argues for positive rights
for suicidal people or for greater accountability in responding to their wishes
to die. In sum, while the destigmatization of suicidality is necessary, it does
not go far enough to end suicidism and to actively support suicidal people.
1.4. Suicidism as Epistemic Violence

A long tradition of feminist, queer, postcolonial, and Black epistemologies,
which are sometimes called “insurrectionist epistemologies” (Medina 2012,
2017) or “liberatory epistemologies” (Tuana 2017), has demonstrated how
the knowledge of some marginalized groups is devalued and discredited in
comparison to the knowledge of dominant groups and how revalorizing and
relegitimizing this knowledge would enrich and rectify current knowledge.58
Spivak (1988) develops the notion of “epistemic violence,” which refers to
88 | CH APTER 1
forms of violence perpetrated on colonized subjects by preventing them from

speaking or being heard or by delegitimizing their voices and knowledge
when they are heard. Building on Spivak, philosopher Kristie Dotson (2011,
236) offers the following definition of epistemic violence: “One method of
executing epistemic violence is to damage a given group’s ability to speak
and be heard.” Since then, a rich apparatus of concepts, theories, and notions
has been put forward to analyze, describe, and critique various forms of vio-
lence exercised at the epistemic level or relating to knowledge. Authors refer
to “epistemic oppression,” “epistemic injuries,” “epistemic death,” “epistemic
communities” (Medina 2012, 2017), “epistemic resistance,” “epistemic abili-
ties,” “epistemic insurrection,” and “epistemic disobedience” (Medina 2012,
2017; Tuana 2017), to name only a few of these rapidly evolving notions. In
his discussion of racism, philosopher and critical race studies scholar José
Medina demonstrates how epistemic violence is transversal and connected to
various forms of violence, be they political, legal, social, or physical, and that
not recognizing those different kinds of violence is itself a form of epistemic
violence.
I argue that suicidism represents an oppressive system comprising vari-
ous forms of violence (e.g., social, cultural, political, medical, legal, religious,
economic, and normative), including epistemic violence that influences the
life of suicidal subjects by interacting with other forms of violence. Only a
few authors in the field of critical suicidology have mobilized notions and
concepts related to epistemic violence to theorize suicidality, and these rare
contributions began to appear in 2020 (Baril 2020c, Chandler 2020a).59 For
example, despite the current trend of mobilizing experiential knowledge in
research projects in suicidology, Fitzpatrick (2020) shows how the discourses
and narratives of (ex-)suicidal people are often tokenized and their expertise
often limited to the role of consultant instead of decision-maker. Fitzpatrick
sees this tokenist approach as a form of epistemic violence and critiques the
active ignorance underlying forms of epistemic marginalization. The follow-
ing discussion will help us understand these forms of epistemic violence as
well as the mechanisms of active ignorance.
1.4.1. Suicidism as an Epistemology of Ignorance

As Medina (2017, 247) reminds us, the epistemology of ignorance has been
theorized, without being named as such, by several people in the field of criti-
cal race theory: “Although epistemologies of ignorance have been discussed
by that name only recently [ . . . ], they have always been a key theme of
race theory, and they have figured prominently in the philosophies of race
S uicidism | 89
of classic authors such as Sojourner Truth, Anna J. Cooper, W. E. B. Du

Bois, Alain Locke, and Frantz Fanon, to name a few.” Philosopher Charles
W. Mills coins the notion of “epistemology of ignorance” in his 1997 book
The Racial Contract. He uses the expression to describe the process whereby
dominant groups—in this case, White people—actively ignore racism and
White privilege and the role they play in the reproduction of that material
system and ideology. In his 2012 book The Epistemology of Resistance: Gender
and Racial Oppression, Epistemic Injustice, and Resistant Imaginations, Medina
further explores this idea by proposing to react to this epistemology of igno-
rance with an “epistemology of resistance.” As he explains, the epistemology
of ignorance goes hand-in-hand with the practices of silencing; through an
erasure of the marginalized voices of racialized people, White people remain
actively ignorant about racism, its ramifications, manifestations, mecha-
nisms, and impacts—hence the importance of resisting this erasure through
various means.
As an ideological and a material system, suicidism is based on an episte-
mology of ignorance. Nonsuicidal people, researchers in traditional suicidol-
ogy (and sometimes in critical suicidology), health care professionals, and
many others concerned with suicidality (including relatives and friends of
suicidal people) reproduce an active ignorance regarding the perspectives,
claims, and realities of suicidal people and have the privilege to remain ig-
norant about suicidism, its ramifications, manifestations, mechanisms, and
impacts on suicidal people. Most nonsuicidal people do not understand that
their comprehension of suicidality is incomplete and problematic; they can
ignore the voices of suicidal people who do not adhere to the suicidist pre-
ventionist script and dismiss them as irrational or politically alienated, since
the entire society and its norms, institutions, laws, and regulations support
their view that suicide should never be an option for suicidal people. To ap-
ply Medina’s (2017, 250) words to suicidal people, nonsuicidal people are
“cognitively and affectively numbed to the lives of racial [and suicidal] oth-
ers: being inattentive to and unconcerned by their experiences, problems,
and aspirations; and being unable to connect with them and to understand
their speech and action.” Medina (2017, 249) demonstrates how difficult it
is to dismantle the epistemology of ignorance because of what is considered
common sense, widespread preconceived ideas and judgments, and ingrained
norms and ideologies, which infuse scientific discourses:
Confronting interpretations that make you radically rethink your

most familiar experiences is not easy. It can be quite shocking to
hear that something you thought you knew well what it was—well-
90 | CH APTER 1
meant acts of charity toward worse-off others, for example—can be

experienced by the other subjectivities involved quite differently—as
a subtle form of racism, or as passive-aggressive acts that keep people
in subordinate positions and demand their gratitude and conformity.
Going even further, I would suggest that current “well-meant acts” to-
ward suicidal people, be they theorizing suicidality, preventing suicidality, or
helping suicidal people—regardless of which model of suicidality is used—
often represent subtle (and sometimes not too subtle) forms of suicidism, a
type of violence with deep roots and negative consequences in the lives of
suicidal people. In other words, to paraphrase Medina, it could be shocking
to hear that suicide prevention is often ineffective and counterproductive, as
it is the source of the problem it tries to eradicate. It is difficult to understand
from a suicidist gaze that the well-intended acts meant to prevent suicidal
people from taking their lives are experienced by suicidal people as traumatic
and violent. When discussing my thesis and arguments about suicidality with
various audiences, I am often confronted with the following reality: While
people adhere quickly and almost unanimously to my opening argument
critiquing current models of suicidality and prevention strategies that fail
suicidal people, many resist my argument that we need to support suicidal
people in their quest for death. Indeed, most of my interlocutors are astound-
ed by the cruel treatment and forms of discrimination suicidal people face
and are outraged to learn about the difficult reality of being a suicidal person
in a suicidist society. In that sense, the majority of my interlocutors easily accept
my argument about the existence of suicidism. My theoretical framework on
suicidism has even recently attracted the attention of many scholars,60 lead-
ing organizations, associations, and groups working in the field of suicide
prevention, demonstrating that part of my thesis is increasingly recognized,
even by those endorsing a preventionist stance. However, people are quite re-
luctant when it comes to my subsequent argument about developing an account-
able response to ending suicidism that would involve positive rights as well as
social policies, accompaniment measures, and support for suicidal people. Many
come to see me after conference presentations to tell me that, while they ad-
here to my theory and they believe that it would be coherent and logical for
them to support suicidal people in a way similar to how they support other
marginalized groups, they are “blocked” at the affective level. The experi-
ence of having suicidal thoughts themselves, having a loved one who died by
suicide, or thinking about accompanying a loved one in their suicide makes
people uncomfortable. A recognition of the oppression suicidal people expe-
rience has started to emerge in the public sphere, but, simultaneously, there
S uicidism | 91
is a deep, emotional, affective reluctance to change the status quo regarding

the kind of support and accompaniment we offer to suicidal people and the
self-determination we allow them to have. In the spirit of Medina (2017,
249), who calls on us to “radically rethink [our] most familiar experiences,” I
call herein for thinking outside the box about our relationship to suicidality
and suicidal people and for an epistemology of resistance for suicidal people,
which I delineate in the following chapters. To better understand this episte-
mology of resistance, the last pages of this chapter are dedicated to explain-
ing how the epistemology of ignorance functions through various forms of
epistemic injustice.
1.4.2. Suicidality and Epistemic Injustice: Testimonial

and Hermeneutical Injustice
One important concept that has emerged following Spivak’s notion of epis-
temic violence is the notion of “epistemic injustice,” coined by philosopher
Miranda Fricker.61 This first subsection explains the two types of epistemic
injustices Fricker (2007, 1) identifies in her work—testimonial injustice and
hermeneutical injustice—which have become foundational to subsequent
related notions. While the former type refers to lack of credibility of some
people’s voices in the eyes of dominant groups simply because they belong
to marginalized communities, the latter refers to the idea that marginalized
individuals do not have easy access to the theoretical tools needed to under-
stand and explain their oppression:
Testimonial injustice occurs when prejudice causes a hearer to give

a deflated level of credibility to a speaker’s word; hermeneutical in-
justice occurs at a prior stage, when a gap in collective interpretive
resources puts someone at an unfair disadvantage when it comes to
making sense of their social experiences. An example of the first
might be that the police do not believe you because you are black; an
example of the second might be that you suffer sexual harassment in
a culture that still lacks that critical concept.
In a subsequent piece coauthored with philosopher Katharine Jenkins,

Fricker discusses hermeneutical marginalization, theorized in her earlier
work and conceptualized as a precondition to hermeneutical injustice (Frick-
er and Jenkins 2017, 268). Fricker and Jenkins (268) explain that “someone
counts as hermeneutically marginalized insofar as they belong to a social
group that under-contributes to the common pool of concepts and social
92 | CH APTER 1
meanings.” In other words, hermeneutical marginalization happens when

someone—for example, a disabled person—does not have the same opportu-
nity to build knowledge regarding disability because they are excluded from
(or their opinions and ideas are less valued in) certain forms of employment
and knowledge-building communities, such as academic milieus, decision-
making processes, or public policy development.
Suicidal people experience both types of epistemic injustices as well as
hermeneutical marginalization. First, testimonial injustice is produced by
interlocking sanist, suicidist, and paternalist views, which perceive the judg-
ment of suicidal people to be irrational, incompetent, illegitimate, or alien-
ated and destroy the suicidal subject’s credibility and agency. In that sense,
suicidal people’s voices are invalidated. In other words, suicidal subjects
are often not seen to be as knowledgeable as others (be they suicidologists,
critical suicidologists, health care professionals, or activists/scholars in anti-
oppressive social movements/fields of study) on the topic of suicidality, since
their perspectives and viewpoints on life and death are invalidated, discred-
ited, and seen as biased by mental illness, social oppression, or political alien-
ation. Second, as a group, suicidal people lack the conceptual tools necessary
to understand their experiences outside the mainstream curative and suicidist
preventionist frameworks and to make them intelligible to others. This ex-
perience represents a form of hermeneutical injustice. As we saw earlier, no
matter what model one uses to theorize suicidality, suicide is not considered
a valid option for suicidal people and hence is not rendered intelligible or
rational. This limitation does not mean that suicidal people are unable to
develop analytical tools to interpret suicidality from a different perspective
or that they lack the capacity or agency to do so; it simply illustrates that a
scarcity of theories, notions, and concepts exist to help them conceptualize
their experience as part of a larger system of oppression rather than as an in-
dividual problem. For example, the fact that suicidal people find it difficult
or impossible to reach out to prevention services or to their relatives to discuss
their suicidality—and that they think that it is their own responsibility to do
so—demonstrates the difficulty in conceptualizing their personal experienc-
es as part of a larger oppressive, suicidist system that produces violence and
discrimination toward suicidal subjects when they speak openly. Similar to
the sexual harassment victims in Fricker’s example, who are aware of and un-
derstand the violence they suffer without having access to official concepts to
name this lived experience, suicidal people have (or could develop) language
and knowledge about their reality, but their experiential knowledge is sim-
ply dismissed, labeled as unscientific and unintelligible, as their testimonials
demonstrate (Krebs 2022). Until recently, concepts such as suicidism and
S uicidism | 93
compulsory aliveness were not available to help make sense of the suicidal
experience outside the preventionist script. Even when suicidal people suc-
ceed in theorizing their realities outside the dominant suicidist framework,
nonsuicidal people, health care professionals, and various activists/scholars
practice “willful hermeneutical ignorance” (Pohlhaus 2012, 715), which con-
sists of rejecting the new ideas, perspectives, and conceptual tools elaborated
by suicidal people. In this case, willful hermeneutical ignorance would in-
volve denying or dismissing the importance of structural suicidism and its
negative impacts on suicidal people. It could also consist of delegitimizing the
requests made by some suicidal people—for example, for suicide-affirmative
health care—on the pretext that they are too mentally incompetent or too
alienated by oppressive systems to decide for themselves. Third, hermeneuti-
cal injustice is partly founded on suicidal subjects’ experience of hermeneu-
tical marginalization. As demonstrated earlier, suicidal people are not (or
rarely) invited to contribute to knowledge construction on suicidality, both
in suicidology and in critical suicidology. This marginalization makes the
theorizing of suicidist oppression even more challenging for suicidal people,
who are often excluded from spaces and venues where we critically reflect
on suicidality. Hermeneutical marginalization feeds hermeneutical injustice,
and hermeneutical injustice accentuates hermeneutical marginalization.
1.4.3. Suicidal Subjects, Preemptive Testimonial

Injustice, and Testimonial Smothering
Fricker and Jenkins (2017) also expand on a notion developed by Fricker ten
years earlier: a “pre-emptive form of testimonial injustice” (272), defined as
“an advance credibility deficit sufficient to ensure that your word is not even
solicited” (273). In the case of disabled people, for example, the media often
does not solicit them or does so only to confirm ableist scripts and narratives
that depict disabled people as tragic figures or as supercrips who overcome
their disability (Clare 2009; Kafer 2013; McRuer 2006, 2018). In a similar
fashion, suicidal people experience preemptive testimonial injustice when,
in addition to their voices being dismissed entirely, their testimonials are
often solicited only to present a tragic or overcoming narrative. As a result,
we are exposed to only a “narrow subset” (Fricker and Jenkins 2017, 273)
of experiences, comprising mainly those of ex-suicidal people, who adopt
a suicidist preventionist script that aims to show that once they obtained
the help they needed—be it chemical, psychological, social, or political—
they reevaluated their wish to die. In sum, based in part on hermeneutical
marginalization, a scarcity of suicidal people’s discourses exists in the public
94 | CH APTER 1
sphere; furthermore, when we collectively allow their testimonials to emerge,

based on preemptive testimonial injustice, the voices solicited are those of
ex-suicidal people who reproduce dominant discourses on suicidality to give
hope of overcoming suicidality to those who might be contemplating suicide.
In addition, a wide variety of suicidal narratives is further shut down by
what Dotson (2011, 237) calls “testimonial smothering.” When marginalized
groups testify publicly about their experiences, testimonial smothering push-
es them to voluntarily conceal parts of their testimonials or transform their
messages to make them more palatable to certain audiences. Testimonial
smothering is a form of “self-silencing” (Medina 2017, 257) or self-censorship
that occurs when people face an unwelcoming environment. For example,
some disabled people might be tempted to soften their critiques of ableism in
the media to convince an audience of the importance of accessibility. In the
case of suicidal discourses, most testimonials are, unsurprisingly, narrated in
the past tense and express what Borges (2019) calls passive suicidal ideation, as
if revealing current and active suicidal ideation is so threatening to dominant
conceptualizations of suicide, with so many damaging consequences for sui-
cidal people, that current and active suicidal subjects are denied the chance
to speak their truth. Critchley (2019), who comes out as suicidal in his essay
on suicide, reassures readers that they do not have to worry about him and
that his writing does not constitute a suicide note. This example is but one
showing suicidal people’s burden to reassure their readership, audiences, and
relatives when talking about their suicidality and one form of testimonial
smothering. Furthermore, the literature in traditional and critical suicidology
is replete with statements about the normality of suicidal ideation (or “pas-
sive” suicidality) and the problematic nature of suicidal actions or attempts
(“active” suicidality). Indeed, in the abundant literature consulted, several
authors agree that expressing suicidal feelings should be encouraged but that
expressing a desire to act upon those feelings is not and should be prevented.
In that sense, I wonder whether some testimonials on suicide that we read or
hear in the public sphere are smothered to present a past or passive narrative of
suicidality instead of a current and active one to make a difficult topic palat-
able to a nonsuicidal audience.
I can testify that testimonial smothering is at work in my case. While I
generally use an autoethnographic methodology in most of my work on dis-
ability and trans issues, mobilizing my personal experiences as a trans and
disabled/Mad man to theorize social and political issues, I did not automati-
cally turn to subjective suicidal experiences in my previous work on suicidal-
ity. Despite having published multiple articles and chapters on the topic, it
was only after working in this field for a few years and obtaining tenure at
S uicidism | 95
my university that I decided in one of my articles (Baril 2020c) to “come out”

as suicidal, yet only in a footnote and only after being questioned about my
position/situatedness by one of the reviewers of the article. In other words, in
previous publications, I voluntarily concealed information about myself and
my experience of suicidality to make my thesis and arguments more credible
to my audience as well as to avoid generating a “panic” reaction from editors,
reviewers, colleagues, and readers were I to reveal being currently suicidal. In
sum, preemptive testimonial injustice and testimonial smothering contribute
to ignorance and willful hermeneutical ignorance regarding suicidal people’s
experiences, since some testimonials are simply not elicited, do not circulate
in the public sphere, or are transformed to fit suicidist scripts. Thus, the
deadly silencing circle of epistemic violence is perpetuated.
1.4.4. Suicidism, Epistemic Silencing, and Epistemic Death

The epistemic silencing experienced by some marginalized groups, such as ra-
cialized people or, as I argue, suicidal people, may be so pervasive that it leads
to epistemic death. This notion, coined by Medina (2017), is inspired by the
notion of “social death” theorized in 1982 by sociologist Orlando Patterson
regarding people who cannot obtain the status of subjects deserving of rights
and liberties.62 Several authors following Patterson have theorized the no-
tion of social death. For example, scholar Lisa Marie Cacho (2013) discusses
the historical, cultural, and political death of racialized people, particularly
those vulnerable to various forms of expulsion, deportation, confinement, or
incarceration. Regarding the social death of inmates in solitary confinement,
philosopher Lisa Guenther (2013, xxiii) states, “What makes social death dif-
ferent from milder forms of exclusion is its intensity, its pervasiveness, and
its permanence.” Similarly, I conceptualize social death as the designation
of certain people as less than full citizens, leading to violations of their basic
human rights (forced institutionalization and confinement, restraints, and
so forth) and to their pervasive delegitimization, marginalization, exclusion,
or stigmatization. Social death enables violence against such individuals and
can be a condition of extreme vulnerability, as is the case for suicidal people.
Medina (2017, 254) argues that epistemic death “occurs when a subject’s
epistemic capacities are not recognized and she is given no standing or a
diminished standing in existing epistemic activities and communities.” Ex-
tending Fricker’s original distinction between testimonial and hermeneutical
injustice, Medina (2017, 255) further develops the idea of epistemic death
by distinguishing between testimonial and hermeneutical death. Testimonial
death refers to the impossibility of expression because of the total discredit-
96 | CH APTER 1
ing of a person’s voice. Hermeneutical death refers to the absence of theoreti-

cal or conceptual tools for them to make sense of their realities and to make
those realities intelligible to others. I contend that the notions of epistemic,
testimonial, and hermeneutical death, as theorized by Medina in the con-
text of racism, are useful for thinking about suicidality. As I have shown in
this chapter, suicidal subjects experience epistemic silencing to an extent that
leads to epistemic death. Indeed, suicidist contexts condemn most suicidal
people to silence and push them to complete their suicide without having
reached out to anyone. This is particularly true, as I show in Chapters 2
and 3, for racialized people and other marginalized groups, including queer
and trans people and disabled/Mad people, for whom contact with a suicide
hotline and the deployment of emergency services often involves high levels
of violence by police officers and paramedics. For suicidal people, epistemic
death is often followed by material death. When suicidal people openly dis-
cuss their desire to die by suicide, the suicidist preventionist script, combined
with the injunction to live and to futurity, casts their discourses as mad, ir-
rational, alienated, or simply unacceptable. Their view of suicide as an option
is not given “minimal amounts of credibility,” to reuse Medina’s words (255),
and therefore, unless they adopt the suicidist preventionist script (“I will not
do it, I want help to overcome my suicidal ideation”), they are not considered
as subjects in the testimonial and communicational exchanges on suicidal-
ity. In that sense, suicidal subjects experience a particularly pervasive form of
testimonial death. In addition, they also experience hermeneutical death be-
cause, as Medina (2017, 255) describes, they are “prevented from participat-
ing in meaning-making and meaning-sharing practices.” From my perspec-
tive, the absence of theorization of suicidism and its negative consequences
on suicidal people is the most powerful proof that suicidal people experience
a form of hermeneutical death. Proposing suicidism as a theoretical frame-
work aims to combat this hermeneutical death and to bring hermeneutical
justice to suicidal subjects.
1.5. Final Words

This chapter draws on several trends in gray and scientific literature on sui-
cidality, from mainstream to critical suicidology, including sociological/so-
cial accounts of suicidality and philosophical considerations. After reviewing
four key models of suicidality—medical, public health, social, and social
justice—that see suicidality as a problem to eliminate, I have identified lim-
its to those models and the suicide prevention strategies they put forward,
including reproducing forms of sanism and suicidism. While the alternative
S uicidism | 97
conceptualizations I have presented offer fruitful avenues for questioning the

inherent negativity, irrationality, and unintelligibility usually associated with
suicide, and even for interrogating, in some cases, the injunction to live and
to futurity by conceptualizing suicide as a potentially viable option in certain
circumstances, I have demonstrated that these alternative conceptualizations
of suicidality also have skeletons in their closets. By theorizing suicide mostly
as a private, personal, individual decision and by thinking about suicidal
people’s rights as negative rather than positive rights, these innovative theo-
ries still passively reproduce forms of suicidism, since the oppression experi-
enced by suicidal people and the support they deserve to end the criminal-
ization, marginalization, incarceration, and pathologization they face remain
undertheorized from an anti-oppressive approach. In short, despite the wide
range of activists and authors who have dedicated a great deal of thought to
suicidality, none has named the suicidist systemic violence suicidal people
face on a daily basis or the kind of help and support we would need to offer
them to end the structural, ideological, and material suicidist violence they
experience. I contend that developing a greater accountability toward sui-
cidal people and taking into consideration the oppression they face would
definitely enrich and expand our anti-oppression and intersectional analyses.
Suicidality, like racialized status, gender identity, class, age, and dis/ability,
is one component of identity that is interlocked with others. Furthermore,
suicidism is deeply intertwined with other oppressive systems, as shown in
this chapter. Therefore, a better understanding of suicidism in combination
with ableism, sanism, ageism, racism, classism, and cisgenderism, to name
but a few oppressions, would certainly shed a clearer light on the difficult
lived experiences of the most marginalized in our societies, such as LGBTQ
people, who are often overrepresented in statistics regarding suicidal ideation,
as discussed in the next chapter.

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Temple University Press

Chapter Title: SUICIDISM: A Theoretical Framework for Conceptualizing Suicide

Book Title: Undoing Suicidism

This book is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-

A Theoretical Framework for

Sometimes I worry that’s what people around me would do if I

health, and social justice. I demonstrate that, despite important differences

Despite lacking the space to do justice to the complexities of each model,

1.1 The Main Models of Suicidality

A full understanding of suicide cannot start with the assumption

By examining the important historical and cultural variations in concep-

derstood alongside this multiplicity of alternative views on suicide and con-

This transformation from punishment and prohibition to regulation, or

1.1.1. The Medical Model

of transformation at the social, cultural, intellectual, political, legal, religious,

intrapsychic, logical, conscious and unconscious, and philosophical elements

1.1.2. The Social Model

model of suicidality also needs to be contextualized within its broader social,

that understanding of suicidality through structural-functional approaches

However, it would be unfair to depict the social model as homogeneous

deeply affect population health, to the point of killing some people. In an

1.1.3. The Public Health Model

in determining suicidal behaviours” (8), calling for a “multisectoral suicide

model’s numerous limitations, such as its focus on surveillance, as well as

The emphasis on individual thoughts, moods, emotions, and behav-

1.1.4. The Social Justice Model

adhering to the social justice model conceptualize suicidality as a “problem”

suicidology, as a field of knowledge constructed by politically engaged schol-

suicidology, which promotes the expertise of certain types of researchers and

I maintain that we should consider abandoning the term ‘suicide’

i.e., self-completed deaths cannot be called ‘self-murder’ i.e., ‘suicides’

Although I concur that we must politicize suicidality and examine the

1.2. The Ghosts in Suicidality Models

models is problematic, I contend that they produce similar effects on suicidal

1.2.1. Suicide = Problem: Suicidality as a Medical,

Suicidality is framed as a problem not only for suicidal people themselves

1.2.2. Silence = Death: “Speak up. . . . No, don’t. . . .”

In the current environment [ . . . ] talking about your suicidal feelings

The suicidist environment that fuels taboos, stigmatization, incarcera-

[The experiences] of most of the people I interviewed, and abundant

suicide prevention campaigns send a paradoxical message to suicidal people

1.2.3. Ghostly Perspectives: Suicidal People’s (Absent) Voices

feelings was apparently not on the agenda of suicidology.” Some suicidology

First, perception and attribution are imperfect processes, memories

1.2.4. The Injunction to Live and to Futurity:

It was argued that medical discourses on insanity and suicide emerged

based on his meticulous historical demonstration, I believe that suicidism

considered biased by oppressive systems, and the result of this delegitimiza-

conclusion: Don’t do it. It is fruitful to consider this conclusion as being in-

Mad people, including incarceration, restraints, involuntary hospitalization,

1.3. Alternative Conceptualizations of Suicidality

1.3.1. Philosophical Perspectives on Suicide

Libertarianism typically asserts that the right to suicide is a right of

As Cholbi notes, this last definition of the right to suicide, formulated as

Foucault also imagines the creation of places that would facilitate

In one interview, Foucault (2001, 1186–1201) also mentions that if he

osophical stances I have read in my ten years of training in philosophy, even

1.3.2. Thomas Szasz and the Radical Liberty of Suicide

approach to suicide engages in critiquing dominant systems, such as neoliber-