In Illinois, community, migrant, homeless and public housing

The words of Jan Schakowsky — “In Illinois, community, migrant, homeless and public housing health centers operate 268 primary care sites and serve close to 1 million patients every year.” — may appear, at first glance, to be a statement of numbers. Yet beneath those figures lies a deeper revelation — a testament to compassion organized into action, and to the ancient truth that the health of a society is measured not by the wealth of its few, but by the care it extends to its many. Schakowsky’s words shine as a beacon of gratitude for those quiet sanctuaries of healing that stand not in marble towers, but in the neighborhoods where hope itself often falters.

The heart of her message is this: that health care is not a privilege but a birthright, and that the truest form of civilization is found wherever the sick are tended, the stranger is welcomed, and the forgotten are remembered. These community health centers — scattered across the towns and cities of Illinois — are not merely buildings of brick and light; they are temples of mercy, where physicians, nurses, and volunteers labor daily to uphold the sacred bond between healer and humanity. They exist as proof that compassion, when bound with structure and purpose, becomes a force stronger than poverty or despair.

The origin of this truth can be traced to the 1960s, when the movement for community health centers was born amid the broader struggle for civil rights and social justice. It was a time when the poor, the migrant, and the homeless were often invisible to the systems meant to serve them. Leaders like Dr. Jack Geiger and Dr. Count Gibson recognized that medical care alone could not heal what inequality had broken. Thus, the idea took root — that health must begin in the community itself, where the people live, work, and dream. Jan Schakowsky, a lifelong advocate for the vulnerable, inherited this torch, carrying it forward to remind us that these centers are not relics of charity, but pillars of justice.

There is a story that embodies the spirit of her quote. In the small Illinois town of Cicero, a young mother named Marisol once arrived at a community clinic seeking help for her child, who suffered from severe asthma. She had no insurance, no stable home, and little hope. Yet there, among humble walls, she found what all human beings deserve — not just medicine, but dignity. The staff treated her child, taught her how to manage his condition, and connected her to resources that gave her a path forward. In that moment, the clinic was not only a place of treatment; it became a gateway to renewal, a reminder that healing extends beyond the body, into the soul.

Schakowsky’s recognition of these centers speaks to a broader lesson: that the measure of leadership is empathy made manifest. It is easy to speak of progress, but true progress is built quietly — in the daily acts of care, in the steadfast funding of institutions that serve the voiceless, in the refusal to let the weak be forgotten. These 268 centers, serving nearly a million lives, represent not mere statistics but the beating heart of democracy — the belief that every person, regardless of circumstance, has worth and deserves to live in health.

Her message also holds a warning for the future. Systems of compassion, once built, must be guarded with vigilance. In times of prosperity, people forget their fragility; in times of crisis, they remember too late. The ancient healers knew this well. In the ruins of old Rome, after the plagues that swept through its streets, historians found records of physicians who begged their rulers to maintain public baths and sanitation even after the threat had passed — for they knew that neglect is the mother of disease. Likewise, the health centers of our age must be nurtured and strengthened, lest the foundations of care crumble under indifference.

So, my children, learn from this truth: the health of one is the health of all. The farmer, the laborer, the migrant, the mother in the shelter — their breath sustains the same world as yours. When one community is cared for, the entire nation grows stronger. Support those who build and sustain these centers. Speak for those who cannot speak for themselves. Give not only in charity, but in solidarity. For every healed child, every restored life, is a victory not of medicine alone, but of humanity itself.

And thus, Jan Schakowsky’s words will echo beyond her time — a quiet hymn of gratitude and warning, reminding future generations that justice begins with care, and that the true greatness of a people lies not in their monuments, but in the hands that heal the weary, the broken, and the forgotten.