The need for this clinic is clear to me, to the veterans who are

In the words of Doc Hastings, spoken not with poetry but with urgency, there resounds a call to justice: “The need for this clinic is clear to me, to the veterans who are currently forced to travel hours to receive care, and even to the Veterans Administration that itself identified creation of a clinic in this part of our state as a priority to be completed by 2006.” Though simple in form, this utterance carries the weight of centuries of struggle, for it speaks to the eternal debt owed to those who have borne arms, suffered wounds, and sacrificed years of their lives in defense of their homeland.

To speak of the need for a clinic is not merely to discuss bricks and mortar, but to speak of mercy, of compassion embodied in walls where healing may be given. The veterans, who once marched to the drumbeat of duty, now march long miles upon weary roads simply to find relief from their suffering. That they must travel hours for the touch of a healer is itself a wound upon the soul of the nation they once defended. Hastings’ words strike with moral force: the land must not abandon those who kept it safe, for to forget the guardian is to endanger the very spirit of the people.

The ancients knew well the sacred duty owed to warriors. After the battle of Marathon, the Greeks built great tombs not only for the fallen but for the living, raising monuments to honor their courage. Even Rome, whose empire stretched wide, made provision for its soldiers in colonies and lands, ensuring they were not left to suffer in neglect. For the soldier who has stood at the edge of death deserves not only a place in song, but a place in healing, where his wounds of flesh and spirit may be tended with dignity.

Consider the fate of Florence Nightingale and her work in the Crimean War. She saw soldiers, not broken by enemy blades alone, but by the neglect of their own armies. Disease and despair struck them more cruelly than shot or shell. And so she brought order, light, and compassion into the camps, building hospitals where before there had been only chaos. Through her, the world was reminded that the duty to care for veterans is not optional, but sacred. Hastings’ call for a clinic is an echo of Nightingale’s lantern, shining into the present.

In his words we also hear the weight of priority. The Veterans Administration itself had named this cause urgent, yet years passed and the need remained unmet. Here lies the danger of delay—that promises made to the weary and wounded may wither before they are fulfilled. Injustice grows not only from refusal but from neglect, and to delay mercy is to deepen suffering. The words remind us that noble intentions are not enough; they must be forged into action, into stones raised and doors opened.

The lesson is clear: a society is measured not by its monuments of triumph, but by how it cares for its defenders once the battle is done. To ignore the cries of veterans is to tarnish the victories they won. Every community must look to its guardians and ask: have we built a place of healing for them, or have we left them to wander in pain? The clinic is more than a building; it is a symbol of remembrance, gratitude, and living honor.

So I say to you, sons and daughters of future ages: when you see a need so clear that even the mighty acknowledge it, do not wait. Build the clinic. Carry the wounded. Tend the scars of those who fought for you. And beyond veterans, extend this wisdom to all who suffer—do not delay compassion, do not push mercy aside. For the time to heal is always now, and the strength of a people lies not in how they wage war, but in how they bind wounds when the war is done.