Nobody likes insurance companies, especially health insurance

In the sharp and satirical words of P. J. O’Rourke, master of wit and social observation, lies a truth that cuts through humor and lands squarely in the heart of modern discontent: “Nobody likes insurance companies, especially health insurance companies.” Though delivered with a touch of irony, O’Rourke’s statement reveals a profound reflection on the relationship between human vulnerability and the institutions built to protect it. In this simple line, he captures the tension between necessity and frustration, between the promise of security and the experience of bureaucracy. He speaks not as an enemy of progress, but as one who sees clearly how the machinery of care has, in many ways, lost sight of the soul it was meant to serve.

The origin of this quote lies in O’Rourke’s long career as a political commentator and humorist, whose wit was a weapon wielded not in cruelty, but in clarity. Writing in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, he bore witness to the growing complexity of the healthcare system in America — a system where profit often sat at the table meant for compassion. His jest arises from the everyday experience of millions who find themselves trapped in a maze of forms, policies, and denials, when all they seek is simple relief from suffering. Through humor, O’Rourke revealed the tragic irony of our age: that institutions meant to safeguard life often become the very barriers between people and healing.

To understand the deeper meaning of his words, one must look beyond the laughter to the human truth beneath. Health insurance companies are, in theory, instruments of protection — shields against the financial ruin that illness can bring. Yet, over time, they have grown into systems of calculation, where care is filtered through numbers, and compassion is measured in cost. The human face disappears behind policy codes and corporate decisions. Thus, O’Rourke’s humor becomes a lament, a modern parable of how systems designed to protect can become systems of control. He reminds us that when care becomes commerce, when healing is turned into a transaction, something sacred is lost.

This lesson is not confined to the modern world. History, too, offers its reflections. In ancient Rome, when plagues swept through the empire, physicians and healers often demanded gold from the dying before offering their services. It was then that the philosopher Seneca wrote, “It is a poor doctor who seeks payment before the cure.” The empire learned, too late, that the health of a society depends not merely on its medicine, but on its mercy. So it is today, when citizens face illness not only with fear of death, but fear of debt. The spirit of O’Rourke’s quote echoes Seneca’s wisdom — that when institutions forget the heart for the sake of the purse, the body of civilization itself begins to sicken.

Yet his humor also offers hope, for satire is not despair — it is awakening through laughter. By saying what everyone feels but few dare to articulate, O’Rourke shakes the complacent mind. His words remind us that cynicism can be a mirror, showing us what we have tolerated too long. When he says “nobody likes insurance companies,” he is not merely mocking them; he is calling us to remember that systems are made by people, and thus can be remade. To dislike injustice is the first step toward reform. To laugh at absurdity is to expose it. The medicine of truth may be bitter, but in the hands of a humorist, it is made palatable — and healing begins with awareness.

Consider, too, the countless stories of those who have fought against the indifference of the system and triumphed through persistence. In the early 2000s, Nataline Sarkisyan, a young woman denied a liver transplant by her insurer, became a symbol of this struggle. Her family’s public outcry, amplified by citizens and activists, forced the nation to confront the moral failures of its healthcare structure. Though tragedy struck, change followed in the public conscience. Through pain, the truth emerged: that health cannot be measured in profit, and that human dignity must outweigh institutional logic. O’Rourke’s wry observation thus becomes a call for moral reckoning, cloaked in jest but rooted in justice.

The lesson, then, is twofold. First, let us not lose our capacity to laugh at the follies of our own making — for humor keeps bitterness from devouring the soul. But second, let our laughter be the spark of change, not complacency. When we recognize that the structures meant to protect life have become lifeless themselves, we must act — to demand transparency, to champion empathy, and to restore the human spirit to the center of care. Let every person remember that systems exist for souls, not souls for systems.

So, children of reason and compassion, hear the wisdom hidden in P. J. O’Rourke’s jest. Behind the laughter lies the ancient truth: that no institution can claim to serve humanity if it forgets the beating heart of the human being. Mock the folly, yes — but mend it, too. For to build a society where compassion governs commerce, and health is seen not as a privilege but as a birthright, is the greatest act of civilization. And perhaps, when that day comes, we shall at last have something new to laugh about — not in mockery, but in joy.