Please explain why people object to Obamacare.
Mrs. Petunia Kevorkian
Dear Please Put A Cork In It,
There are as many reasons for not liking something as there are people not to like out there, and our form of representational government insures that most of these unpleasant individuals will be front and center, right in the debate over Obamacare being held in the delightful thought experiment known affectionately, when you are trying to get in its pants, or abusively, if it lets you get into its pants, as Congress. In reality we haven’t got enough time or Band-Aids™ to treat the hundred million plus people who have cut their fingers poking accusingly with vehemence at every image they see of President Obama, in the paper, on a poster glued to a brick wall, through the monitor of their computer or TV or deep into their brain through the ear hole trying to get at the mental picture of him drawn by talk radio hosts, but we can look at several broad categories of objections raised by different subsets of people who feel their right to infect strangers with their lack of healthiness is a national priority.
Some object in principle to the idea of the government telling them they should be able to receive medical services, because it implies they are stupid and irresponsible enough to get sick in the first place. Americans are so great, or used to be anyway, they argue, that no one ever became ill in the past until Obama turned disease into an entitlement program, and it flies in the face of American Exceptionalism, like a polio sneeze, to imply that our citizens are capable of infirmities that prevent them from driving SUVs to the edges of cliffs at sunset, feeling pain from burning their hands or tongues on piping hot apple pies or getting shot at during grade school recess. These people generally wish the government never existed because taxes, so you can’t really discuss the finer points because taxes. There is even a state named after these people, who naturally believe edumacation and spellingBees are a similar intrusion by WashingTon-o’thems into their Liberry, Library,or Liberty, depending on whether you are from Gravelston, DullAss or AmberBrillo in the great state of Taxes.
Others argue that being forced to pay a stake in the costs they burden society with by being ill is counterproductive to their plan to not ever be ill, and a violation of their first amendment rights to free speech that they just won’t shut up about. Adding injury to insult, they say, is being told to do so by people who already have excellent coverage paid for by the government, most of whom seem to live forever, with all them new hips and ‘spensive cancer treatments. It offends their tender and worrisomely spreading sensibilities, which they are hoping you will take a look at in the middle of dinner two tables over in a restaurant where you just met.
A small but vocal and morally superior group of people, Corporations, are dead set against maintaining health, because they cannot die, and any underperforming flesh units of them that occasionally drop dead all the time are easily replaced by cheap foreign body parts and generous bonuses that allow one to keep several specialists on staff in your home where you need them, not running around willy-nilly in some lousy neighborhood, setting broken bones and delivering breach births when you are trying to squeeze in a botox treatment or get them to loan you their stethoscope to listen to the Mercedes purr in the garage or resuscitate you from carbon monoxide poisoning. Whatever that is. We should look at getting that deregulated before the unions make it too costly a way to die accidentally, the bastards… is their line of argument.
On the other hand, you might meet some people who object for less moronic reasons, maybe at a store or a party, who are confused by misinformation, hyper-emotionalism or are afflicted with a strain of Bombasticus Foxitosis (which is covered under the new health plan/human slaughter panel conspiracy of evil). In these settings many people are typically nervous about seeing a new doctor, especially if they are a President or a Black President, and don’t wish to appear racist even though they quake in terror at the thought of letting one of those President people help them and their children to live a better and more productive life, especially after all the horrible things they said and thought about and did to those kind of Presidents throughout their lives — or just now, in the waiting room, if they made an appointment in advance.
When I look at the reactions of my fellow countrymen to the attempts by half of our political leaders to address fairness and access to basic public health through Obamacare, good manners dictate acknowledging that it is still considered rude, contagious and impolite to refuse to be cured or treated for medically-related impertinence in most social settings, and of course nobody likes to be put on the spot because they don’t trust the guy, who isn’t even a doctor, prescribing a low-cost remedy to extend their lives. I can’t help but feel that many Americans may be making the case that they are right about anything that may improve their health, and that it (not to mention their lives) is simply not worth the risk of bothering trying to save. They feel it’s a personal choice to be free of responsibility, and that no amount of careful planning and thoughtful expertise should be involved or interfere with making such a decision, not when the government could and should be doing what it does best and what it has been paid to do so handsomely in our collective interests: Nothing.
Mrs. Vera Newman is a San Francisco absurdist character, humorist, artist, writer, community organizer, clothes horse and co-founder, with Mister Tina, of The Verasphere. She has been answering the unasked questions she receives from the lonely, empty rooms of America’s heart-shaped circulatory pump room ever since it began beating. Nestled in the politically bent bowels of the Nation since she was a young girl babysitting the very same newborn Nation, her ability to self-reflect about anyone else’s embarrassing shortcomings, inept fumblings or lousy recipes has enabled her invisible rise as a modern-day Cassandra, whatever that means. Feel free to dispose of all your worries by leaving them on her doorstep!