November 1, 2025
Euthanasia in Germany: A suicide that could shake up politics
He had diagnosed himself, he wrote in the application, with “weariness of life.”
His dreams had been fulfilled, he had six university degrees, his education was “outstanding.” He was familiar with all philosophical ideas, and he would never beat his marathon best time of 2:45 hours.
He continued: “I have experienced most of the secrets of being human.” He had visited a hundred countries and read a thousand books.
Wine, travel, literature—all of that had become boring. He had neither wife nor children and had been infertile for years. (Editor’s note – Florian was divorced).
The “wonderful first half of his life” was enough for him; he didn’t need a second one.
In addition, since an accident, he had been in pain and had difficulty walking.
In order to continue to enjoy life, he would have to take hard drugs, but he did not want to do that. At 47, it was time to go. “My life is over.”
He knew what his decision meant, Willet wrote, after all, he had been a death counselor himself and had “extensive professional experience” in this matter. A suicide assistant who now asked for suicide assistance himself.
Willet signed the application and sent it to the German Association for Humane Dying (DGHS), an association based in Berlin that assists people with suicide.
Just under four weeks later, on the morning of May 5, he traveled from Küsnacht to Cologne. He took only the bare essentials with him: his laptop, two smartphones, and his debit cards.
In the afternoon, he took his own life in Cologne, on the first floor of a house in the Rath-Heumar district.
Presumably, it happened as it usually does in such cases: he opened the valve of an infusion that allowed the anesthetic thiopental to flow into his body, in a tenfold overdose.
At 2:12 p.m., Willet was dead, according to an official document from the city of Cologne.
Two so-called death companions, a radiologist and a woman from the DGHS, were with him.
In Germany, it is legal to assist people in committing suicide—even if they are not terminally ill, as was the case with Florian Willet.
However, it is not always clear whether those wishing to die have made a free choice or have been influenced.
The Cologne public prosecutor’s office is now investigating Willet’s death.
In Germany, more than 1,200 people received assistance in committing suicide in 2024, according to reports from four major euthanasia organizations, including the DGHS. The total number has been rising for years.
The Willet case shows how easy and quick it is to find people willing to assist in suicide.
Too easy? Too quick?
Florian Willet was born in Heidelberg and grew up in Wiesbaden. When he was 14 years old, his father took his own life.
After school, he studied law, economics, and communication psychology, later working as an asset manager.
He led a somewhat unsettled life, moving frequently and occasionally experiencing financial difficulties, according to someone who knew him well.
A few years ago, he moved to Lake Zurich and started working for Dignitas, a Swiss euthanasia association. Willet became the press spokesman for its German section.
Self-employment as an assisted suicide entrepreneur
He had “an idealistic mission,” he said at a lecture in Hamburg at the time. His goal was to remove the taboo surrounding assisted suicide. “There should be as few suicides as possible, but of course as many as necessary.”
Later, Willet founded his own organization in Switzerland with other activists, The Last Resort. He became its president; you could say he started his own business as an assisted suicide entrepreneur.
The Last Resort promised assisted suicide without medication, without doctors, without risk.
Willet and his colleagues used a 3D printer to create a suicide capsule: a box with an access hatch, the size of a coffin, into which nitrogen flows at the push of a button, causing its users to lose consciousness and suffocate after a few moments.
The inventors named the capsule “Sarco” and spoke of a “turning point in the history of death and dying.”
In September 2024, media outlets around the world reported on Willet and his box, including the New York Times and the TV station Al Jazeera, among others. Shortly before, a 64- year-old American woman had used the capsule for the first time, taking her own life in a Swiss forest.
The woman suffered from severe immunodeficiency, The Last Resort reported at the time. She lost consciousness after two minutes in the “Sarco” and died after seven. “Peacefully, quickly, and with dignity.”
However, the Schaffhausen public prosecutor’s office launched an investigation against Willet and three other people on charges of incitement and aiding and abetting suicide.
Willet, who had been present when the American woman committed suicide, was arrested and remanded in custody.
Investigators initially suspected that he may have assisted in the woman’s death, possibly because the capsule had not functioned as intended.
The public prosecutor’s office investigated indications of intentional homicide, a suspicion that was not substantiated, which is why Willet was released in December. The proceedings for aiding and abetting suicide continued for the time being.
Florian Willet was one of the best-known advocates of assisted suicide, someone who wanted to make it big, according to someone close to him. His “Sarco” capsule caused a stir; it was a new method of assisted suicide that raised old questions:
What is permissible when it comes to assisted suicide? What is ethically acceptable, what is respectful?
Perhaps the questions weighed too heavily on him, and perhaps his suicide also had something to do with his fear of the investigation, with his concern that it would put an end to his business model involving the suicide capsule.
Even though he gave other reasons in his application to the DGHS. Why did he turn to the DGHS in the first place, why didn’t he use the “Sarco” capsule for his suicide?
Much in this case will probably remain unanswered.
One thing is certain: Willet’s death will have consequences. His suicide exposed the weaknesses of the system in Germany, the problems of a largely unregulated market where dying has become a business.
Liberal legal situation
In Germany, anyone who injects a lethal substance into another person at their request is liable to prosecution. Active euthanasia is prohibited, but assisted suicide is not. In February 2020, the Federal Constitutional Court ruled that doctors or organizations may assist in suicides.
Since then, commercially assisted suicide is no longer a criminal offense. Doctors can obtain and administer the necessary medication.
Those who wish to end their lives in this way must administer the lethal dose themselves.
In Switzerland, too, it is possible to assist others in committing suicide, but those who do so must not act out of selfish motives.
In Austria, assistance is subject to conditions: those wishing to die must be suffering from an incurable, terminal illness or a serious, permanent illness with persistent symptoms.
These are requirements that do not exist in Germany, which is why the legal situation here is one of the most liberal in the world.
Nevertheless, there are also requirements in Germany. According to case law, a desire to commit suicide must be based on autonomous, free will and be supported by permanence and inner strength. This is to prevent organizations from supporting people who make rash decisions.
Five years ago, the Constitutional Court urged politicians to regulate assisted suicide in a law in order to create clarity and prevent abuse.
But that didn’t work out, and opinions on the issue are divided in the Bundestag. Some say that people who want to kill themselves should not only be able to do so, but also receive help in doing so.
Others are convinced that people should not generally be allowed to decide when their lives should end. Some believe that the Constitutional Court’s ruling goes too far. As a result, there is no law.
This has led to regulatory gaps, gray areas, and a lot of unanswered questions.
For example: How can the motivation of a person who wants to take this path be verified? And do euthanasia organizations have an interest in clarifying this?
It becomes particularly difficult when mentally ill people request assistance in dying. Although they have the right to do so, the Constitutional Court has emphasized that their will must not be impaired by an acute mental disorder.
In 2024, the Essen Regional Court sentenced a neurologist to three years in prison for manslaughter. He had provided a 42-year-old man with a lethal drug, even though the man was unable to make free decisions due to acute schizophrenia.
In Berlin, a doctor helped a 37-year-old woman suffering from depression to die. A court later ruled that the woman had not been capable of exercising free will. The doctor was also sentenced to three years in prison and appealed the decision.
“Completely crazy”
Der SPIEGEL was able to view Florian Willet’s medical reports. They suggest that he too had serious mental health problems in the period leading up to his suicide.
In early December 2024, shortly after his pretrial detention, he sought help at a psychiatric center near Zurich. An emergency report states that he was afraid of the future and felt empty.
Shortly thereafter, he spent just under a week at the University Psychiatric Clinic in Zurich due to “persistent fears” and “passive death wishes.”
At the beginning of January, Willet fell from a window in his apartment in Küsnacht, plunging three stories to the ground. He suffered broken bones, a pelvic injury, and a traumatic brain injury.
At first, he told doctors that he had tried to kill himself. Later, he said that the fall from the window had been an accident and “completely crazy.” That’s what it says in the reports.
A specialist in psychiatry and psychotherapy spoke with Willet several times. She noted that there were indications of paranoid thinking, ego disorders, and delusions, i.e., symptoms of psychosis. Willet believed he had been poisoned, according to the doctor.
He spoke of having headaches due to magnetic fields.
Willet was prescribed olanzapine, a medication for schizophrenia, which he had to take under supervision. According to another report, he was incapable of making sound judgments, his case was “complex,” and his “overall situation was unclear.”
The preliminary diagnosis was acute polymorphic psychotic disorder. People with this condition have a distorted perception of reality.
Willet later spent several weeks in a rehabilitation clinic and underwent psychotherapy until the end of April. The doctors certified him as 100 percent unfit for work. The clinic’s discharge report states that Willet intends to seek safety and recover from his injuries: “He stated that he was not suicidal.”
The clinic’s report is dated April 25, at which point Willet had already submitted his DGHS application for assisted suicide. In it, he put pressure on the association. It had to happen quickly, he wrote. In his case, no expert opinion or medical certificate was necessary. Furthermore, he was on the verge of bankruptcy.
He just about had the 4,000 euros needed to cover the costs of assisted suicide. But soon he might not have it anymore.
The DGHS complied with Willets’ wish for a quick end, and he took his own life in Cologne at the beginning of May. A police document lists the address of the house where he died. Why there, how did it come about?
A visit to the Rath-Heumar district. The address belongs to a new building with a well- kept front garden, and there is a compost bin in the driveway.
The name on the doorbell is S., the same name that the police recorded in May.
A man opens the door. Yes, he says he is Mr. S., the owner of the building. A suicide? No, he knows nothing about that. Maybe his ex-wife had something to do with it; she also lives here, but she’s not home.
“We don’t have any corners here where people commit suicide,” he says, adding that he has to get back to his video conference because he’s working.
Then the door closes again.
Assisted suicide is a business that sometimes takes place in secret.
The question arises as to whether Willet was so mentally ill that he was unable to freely decide on his death. Was his wish permanent, as required by law? Or did the DGHS help him with a kind of express suicide and do the same for others?
The biggest player in the industry
It’s a Friday afternoon in September, and the senior citizens’ fair is taking place in the Fruchthalle in Kaiserslautern. Companies selling hearing aids and stair lifts are presenting themselves at their stands, and the DGHS is also among the exhibitors. Advertising death is probably their mission.
Two DGHS employees have laid out brochures, and a banner displays the association’s motto: “My path, my will.” The two approach visitors to the fair: “Are you interested in this topic?”
Then a man wearing a flat cap walks by. Assisted suicide? Yes, he can imagine it, he says. Nowadays, he says, people are forced to do everything; suddenly, everyone has to become a soldier.
“I want to decide for myself about my death,” he says.
The DGHS employee nods: “We’re not asked if we want to be born when we’re born.”
According to its own information, the DGHS has around 50,000 members and is the largest player in the industry. Its statutes state that it pursues exclusively charitable and benevolent purposes. The DGHS claims that it only arranges helpers, but does not assist with suicides.
Only members can apply for assisted suicide. Several psychologists and two social workers review the applications at the office, according to someone from the association. There is an initial interview with the applicant, followed by a second interview with a doctor.
If the examiners conclude that the desire to die is freely made, they forward the request to two suicide assistants: a doctor and a lawyer take care of the procedure, obtain the medication, and find a place where the person can die.
Who are these end-of-life counselors? The DGHS currently works with around 50 doctors and lawyers. According to the association, demand for assisted suicide has risen so much recently that they would like to expand the network.
Prospective end-of-life counselors can apply to the DGHS, where they receive training and must observe suicides before they are allowed to work as counselors themselves.
Euthanasia through the DGHS costs a flat rate of €4,000. The money is transferred to a trust account, from where it goes to the two euthanasia assistants. The DGHS claims to be financed exclusively by membership fees and donations and not to profit from the income from assisted suicide.
It is unclear exactly how the price for the assistance is calculated. The drug, thiopental, is relatively inexpensive, costing around €70 according to the association.
In 2024, 623 people died with the help of DGHS suicide assistants, generating an estimated
2.5 million euros.
Questions of life and death
Ursula Bonnekoh is treasurer of the DGHS and a member of the association’s executive committee. Documents show that she handled Willet’s application, assessed his desire to die, and was present during his suicide—as a witness, according to the DGHS.
One afternoon in September, Bonnekoh invites us to talk at her living room table in Freimersheim, a municipality in the Palatinate. Bonnekoh, 71, is a certified educator.
Since retiring, she has been working as a suicide assistance counselor, on a voluntary basis, as she says. Together with her husband, she runs a website, and the two give lectures and organize seminars for doctors.
Since the Constitutional Court ruling, Bonnekoh says she has personally helped around 20 people commit suicide. She is currently accompanying a woman with glioblastoma, a brain tumor. “She will fall asleep peacefully at the end,” says Bonnekoh.
The standards can be found on the DGHS website. According to the website, anyone who wants assistance in committing suicide must be a member for six months.
Documents show that Willet joined the DGHS on March 10.
At the time of his suicide, he had been a member for less than two months.
Another DGHS rule is that, if possible, a lawyer should conduct an initial interview with the applicant, “in their home environment.”
The purpose of the meeting is to “document free responsibility.” In Willet’s case, this was done by DGHS treasurer Bonnekoh. She is not a lawyer, the interview took place via video call and lasted just under 90 minutes.
Bonnekoh recorded the telephone conversation.
Willet’s desire to die was “clear” and “long-standing,” she noted in the transcript. He was capable of making decisions, and his decision was based “on rational considerations.”
How could she be so sure? Especially since she noted that Willet had presented her with his “relevant medical records.” Exactly which ones is unclear.
Anyone who is mentally ill must submit a certificate from their treating specialist or an expert opinion confirming that they are capable of making a free decision to the DGHS.
At least, that is what the standards say. Willet apparently did not have to submit such evidence; it was sufficient for him to write in his application that he was “not impaired by mental illness.”
What is the point of rules that are so easy to circumvent? How neutral was Bonnekoh when she assessed his desire to die?
She and Willet knew each other well before the suicide, as his application shows. Bonnekoh accompanied his death as a witness – and presumably received money for doing so.
No information
When asked about Willet at her living room table, Bonnekoh becomes monosyllabic. She does not even want to confirm that she helped him commit suicide.
The DGHS does not comment on individual cases, she says, for reasons of data protection. In general, all applications are thoroughly reviewed in a multi-stage process.
After the meeting, SPIEGEL sent Bonnekoh further questions about the case, but she did not respond. The radiologist who assisted Willets’ suicide also declined to comment.
A DGHS spokeswoman said that they could not provide information on many questions, citing “data protection and confidentiality.” In addition, the association had “only accompanied the process up to the mediation stage.”
This sounds as if the DGHS wants nothing more to do with what happened in Cologne.
Willets’ relatives allowed SPIEGEL to present key findings from his medical reports to an expert: Thomas Pollmächer, psychiatrist and director of the Center for Mental Health at Ingolstadt Hospital.
Pollmächer said that he could not make a diagnosis, but that the information presented to him contained “extensive evidence of mental illness.”
Before the decision on assisted suicide was made, an evaluation and a “new, up-to-date psychiatric examination” would have been “absolutely necessary” – and this would have had to be carried out by an independent psychiatrist.
Dying as a service offering
Scientists at the Institute of Legal Medicine at the University of Munich investigated assisted suicides in the Bavarian capital between 2020 and 2022, analyzing the work of the doctors and aid organizations involved.
Their conclusion: those assisting in dying are not objective; they accept the vast majority of requests to die and offer little advice on alternatives. Furthermore, people with mental illnesses are almost never examined by specialists before committing suicide.
Ute Lewitzka from Goethe University in Frankfurt am Main is Germany’s first professor of suicidology and suicide prevention. “I fear,” she says, “that the actions of these organizations are increasingly turning dying into a service offering.”
If assisted suicide is viewed as normal, the pressure on vulnerable and lonely people to end their lives earlier could increase.
“This threatens to erode the foundation of our solidarity,” says the researcher. “Germany is regulated in so many areas; the health department can shut down any kebab shop immediately, there are hygiene inspections and a duty to provide evidence. But when it comes to suicide assistants, no one from the state is looking.”
The Bundestag wanted to solve the problem in 2023. Members of parliament introduced two bills, which also sought to impose stricter rules on the organizations. However, neither of the two motions received a majority in the vote.
There is “a situation that opens the door to abuse,” says Lars Castellucci, “We urgently need to change that.”
Castellucci is an SPD member of the Bundestag and the German government’s human rights commissioner. Together with parliamentarians from various political parties, he is currently making a second attempt to pass a new law.
Castellucci summarizes his goal as follows: “The legislature should enable assisted suicide, but not promote it.” Those who want help to die need “a safe and legal way.”
At the same time, weaker individuals must be protected from such offers, such as mentally ill people or the elderly and sick who might feel pressured by others to commit suicide.
Several countries have recently introduced such draft legislation.
In France, a doctor must inform the person wishing to die, then consult with at least one colleague and one nurse before deciding on the request. In England, anyone who wants assisted suicide in the future will need the approval of a court, among other things.
In Spain, two independent doctors have been reviewing applications since 2021, with approval then being granted by a control committee.
Members of the German Bundestag are also considering imposing verifiable requirements on organizations, for example with regard to the assessment of applications or the qualifications of assisted suicide providers.
Politicians could decide on waiting periods of several months that must be observed before suicide can take place. Anyone who violates these rules will face penalties.
Until then, business will continue as usual. Money and suicide—for some, the two seem to go hand in hand.
At Dignitas in Hanover, assisted suicide costs several thousand euros, but the organization did not disclose the exact amount when asked by SPIEGEL. At the Sterbehilfe association in Hamburg, the price is €7,000 in the first year of membership—after that, it becomes cheaper.
Linus Sterbehilfe in Fellbach charges €8,950 and promises suicide assistance after “fast procedures,” with applications being reviewed in two to three days, it says. There are “No minimum waiting period, no membership.” It sounds as if Linus is offering cell phone contracts.
Willet’s Swiss organization, The Last Resort, continues to operate without him. One of his former colleagues is currently working on a double capsule for couples who want to commit suicide together.
What is the next step in the investigation?
In the case of the suicide capsule, the Schaffhausen public prosecutor’s office has announced that it will drop the case against Willet due to his death. The investigations against the other suspects are continuing.
A cousin of Willet has submitted documents to the Cologne public prosecutor’s office regarding his state of health prior to his suicide.
He apparently continued to take his schizophrenia medication until the end and even had it with him in Cologne.
The public prosecutor’s office is conducting a death investigation to determine whether Willet was capable of understanding the consequences of his decision. If the authorities conclude that he was not, they could investigate the individuals involved.
Ursula Bonnekoh, the woman from the DGHS, appears calm. She says that after assisting with suicides, she has “never felt that it was wrong.” “I have never been contacted by a public prosecutor either.”
Five mourners
A cemetery in Cologne’s Deutz district on a Friday at the end of July. Willet’s funeral lasts only a few minutes; two men lower the urn containing his ashes into a circular hole. There is no priest, no music, no one gives a speech.
Five mourners stand at Willet’s grave, including a man who later says he was a friend of his. They had known each other since school.
In December, he helped Willet, his friend says. He accompanied him to the psychiatric ward several times; Willet was in a bad way. His friend says he knew nothing about Willet’s plans to kill himself.
“Florian managed to convince the DGHS that he had no mental health problems,” he says, “even though he clearly did.”
Assisted suicide? “That really shouldn’t have been done.”
Willet’s friend is a doctor.
Willet had named him to the DGHS as one of his treating physicians and as a confidant. Perhaps it would have been a good idea for the investigators to call the man before the suicide.