As her kidneys fail and time runs short, this activist fights to
decriminalize euthanasia in Mexico
[March 27, 2026]
By MARÍA TERESA HERNÁNDEZ
MEXICO CITY (AP) — Samara Martínez has written countless letters to the
illness that weakens her body.
“Dear cursed one,” the Mexican activist once wrote. “I hate you because
you have taken things away from me, but I love you because you have been
my greatest teacher.”
At 31, Martínez is among the most prominent voices pushing to
decriminalize euthanasia in Mexico. The topic has long been debated by
advocacy groups, politicians and academics. However, her case has
shifted that conversation into the public spotlight as lawmakers weigh
possible policy changes.
Martínez developed early signs of chronic kidney failure at age 17.
Despite chemotherapy, two kidney transplants, dialysis and frequent
hospitalizations, her prognosis estimates she has about five years left
to live.
Neither the physical toll nor the personal losses caused by the illness
have broken her spirit. Martínez has told her more than half a million
social media followers that her life experience has given her resilience
and purpose. She often meets with politicians, hosts conferences and
keeps her job as an academic in her hometown of Chihuahua, in northern
Mexico.
“I would not have taken up this fight unless I had to endure what I’ve
had to, so I’ve found in it my purpose,” she said.
The legal landscape
Though not explicitly addressed in the Mexican Constitution, the General
Health Law defines euthanasia as “mercy killing” and bans it along with
assisted suicide.
Under federal law, assisting or inducing someone to take their own life
is punishable by one to five years in prison. If a person directly
causes the death, the penalty can increase to 12 years.
Colombia is the only Latin American country where euthanasia is fully
legal and regulated. Ecuador decriminalized it in 2024, and Uruguay
approved legislation in 2025 that is expected to be implemented.
The proposal pushed by Martínez is known as the Transcendence Law.
It was presented in 2025 by lawmakers from several political groups
including Morena, the party of President Claudia Sheinbaum.
The legislation proposes to remove the explicit ban and redefine
euthanasia as a legal, voluntary medical procedure. It frames it as a
right tied to dignity and autonomy, arguing that life should not be
understood as an obligation to prolong suffering.
If approved, the proposal would allow adults to request the procedure.
It includes conscientious objection for health workers, but requires
public institutions to provide willing staff.
One lawmaker supporting Martínez is Patricia Mercado, a longtime
advocate for women’s reproductive and labor rights.
“Samara’s emergence — her struggle, her authenticity — brings the
possibility of passing legislation closer,” Mercado said. “A testimony
speaks louder than a thousand data points.”
A past version of herself
Martínez often revisits her letters. Writing is cathartic, she said. And
reading how her past self confronted her pain helps her recognize the
strength she didn’t know she had.
“Today I read things I wrote four years ago and think: I was so wrong,”
Martínez said. “But it’s nice to see how there’s more wisdom.”
She recalls a letter from 2021. Her doctor told her that her kidneys
could no longer function on their own and she had two options: a
transplant or relying on treatments that take over the kidneys’ role of
removing waste and excess fluid from the body.
Back then Martínez saw the latter as unthinkable. “I thought I could
never live connected to a machine,” she said. But she now undergoes
peritoneal dialysis every night, connected for hours to a piece of
medical equipment about the size of a printer that she must carry with
her wherever she goes.
“An illness like this isn’t for everyone and it’s hard to embrace the
pain,” Martínez said. “You can stop living and just exist, but I don’t
want that.”
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Samara Martínez, a supporter of a law to decriminalize euthanasia,
looks on during the "Muerte Digna" exhibition at the Ermita metro
station In Mexico City, Monday, March 23, 2026. (AP Photo/Marco
Ugarte)
 Before everything changed
There was a time when Martínez loved sports. She played soccer and
was careful with her diet, thinking she was on track to live a
healthy life.
She met her husband in 2013 at university, where she became a
journalist. The couple married five years later despite Martínez’s
warnings regarding her health.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked him soon after being
diagnosed with a broader set of health complications including
lupus, an autoimmune disease. He answered that no adversity would
ever take him from her side.
By the time the marriage crumbled in 2024, Martínez had lost more
than love. After more than a decade of severe illness, she had also
lost her dream job at a publishing house after telling her boss she
would undergo a transplant and might need a week to recover. Debt
piled up, forcing her to sell her home and leading her parents to
take out loans. Long-time friends vanished.
Vomiting, weight gain from steroids used in her treatment and
hospitalization became part of her routine. Martínez has actively
avoided presenting herself as a victim and strongly rejects pity.
But she said that at certain stages, anger and doubt became
unavoidable.
“I consider myself agnostic, but there are moments when you look up
at the sky and question God — why me?” she said. “Now I practice
stoicism and live each day with gratitude.”
A debate that goes beyond the law
Critics of her stance often flood Martínez with abusive messages
online. “I’ve been told that if God wants me to suffer, then I
should suffer,” she said.
Opposition to euthanasia remains strong among conservative and
religious groups in Mexico. Following the presentation of Martínez’s
proposal, the Catholic Church echoed Pope Leo’s call to uphold the
sanctity of life.
Rodrigo Iván Cortés, president of a conservative advocacy group,
said they view life as something that must be protected from the
womb through old age. “For us, the value of life spans every stage,”
he said.
Among the few religious leaders supporting Martínez’s cause is the
Rev. Héctor Reyes, who collaborates with the organization “For the
Right to Die with Dignity.” The group has defended euthanasia for
almost two decades.
“Transcendence has everything to do with the God I believe in,” said
Reyes, who added that people should not remain trapped in the image
of a judgmental and punishing God. “For me, transcendence lies in
the hope that life doesn’t end with physical death.”
A farewell shaped by choice
Martínez has said she has no intention of giving up. Yet when her
body gives out, she dreams of saying her farewells by the sea.
It is not cowardice that drives her, she has said, but the belief
that choosing how to die is the most courageous decision of her
life.
Her parents struggled the day she told them she would spend her
remaining days fighting for euthanasia. “That meant beginning to
grieve while I was still alive,” she said. “When my father asked me
why I had to fight for this, I told him that if I didn’t do it, no
one else would.”
Martínez says she’s aware that she might not live to see the outcome
of her fight. But pushing for change, she says, has already been
worth it.
When the end is near she wishes for a sunset far from a hospital
bed. A gathering to celebrate her life, surrounded by family and
friends.
“That’s what my life deserves,” she said. “A proper time to say
goodbye, to laugh and cry, and leave in peace.”
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