We have the greatest hospitals, doctors, and medical technology

Hear the voice of Barbara Boxer, calling across the halls of governance with words both simple and profound: “We have the greatest hospitals, doctors, and medical technology in the world—we need to make them accessible to every American.” In this utterance lies both a celebration and a lament. It celebrates the brilliance of human achievement, the heights reached by science and skill. But it also laments that such greatness, though abundant, is not shared by all. For what good is the finest temple of healing if only a few may enter its gates?

The meaning is clear: a nation may boast of great hospitals, it may hail its doctors as the envy of the world, and it may marvel at its technology, but these treasures are hollow if they are guarded by barriers of wealth, distance, or privilege. True greatness is not in possession, but in distribution. A society is not judged by what wonders it builds, but by who is allowed to partake in them. The cry of Boxer is not for more miracles of medicine, but for justice—that those miracles should serve the many and not the few.

History has shown this lesson before. In the nineteenth century, the city of London was struck by waves of cholera. The disease spread among the poor, who had no access to clean water or medical care, while the wealthy, sheltered by their means, often escaped the worst. It was not until Dr. John Snow traced the outbreak to the Broad Street pump and forced the city to act for all its citizens that the plague was quelled. The brilliance of his discovery mattered little until it was applied universally. So too, America’s advanced medicine means little if it cannot reach every street, every family, every child.

And recall the wisdom of Jonas Salk, who gave the polio vaccine not for profit, but for humanity. When asked who owned the patent, he replied, “Well, the people, I would say. There is no patent. Could you patent the sun?” His greatness was not only in invention but in accessibility, for he understood what Boxer proclaims: the true glory of medicine is not in its existence, but in its reach. Polio was defeated not because the vaccine was locked in vaults, but because it was placed into the arms of millions, rich and poor alike.

Boxer’s words also serve as a rebuke to complacency. It is not enough to have; we must share. It is not enough to praise our doctors; we must ensure their gifts heal all. It is not enough to marvel at machines that see inside the human body; we must guarantee that every body, regardless of wealth, can stand beneath their gaze. To build towers of healing while letting some suffer outside their walls is to betray the very spirit of medicine, which is to serve life itself.

The lesson, then, is this: measure the strength of your society not by its richest hospital, but by whether the poorest soul may find care there. The might of a nation lies not in the miracles it can boast, but in the mercy it can extend. A civilization that denies care to its weakest is a civilization that denies its own humanity. Accessibility is not charity—it is justice.

Therefore, child of tomorrow, take this wisdom into your life. Where you have knowledge, share it. Where you have resources, open them. Where you see barriers, strive to break them down. Support the causes that extend care to the underserved, speak for those whose voices go unheard, and remember always that the measure of progress is not the brilliance of the few but the wellbeing of the many.

Thus Barbara Boxer’s words resound: “We need to make them accessible to every American.” Let this be the banner of all who cherish justice: that the gifts of healing belong to the people, not to privilege. And in every generation, may her cry awaken the conscience of leaders, healers, and citizens alike, until no child, no elder, no soul is left outside the gates of mercy.