A super-liberal friend called in distress yesterday. Her husband abruptly left the job that has supplied her family with employer-based health insurance for years--but no problem, right? She can just sign herself and her post-college under 26 son up for Obamacare coverage. (Yeah, I know, unconstitutional, but we'll get to that later.) Was I aware that the sign-up procedures are arcane, the choices are expensive and substantively awful, the subsidies are illusory, the deadline is tomorrow? Her son is in post-grad school in another state; all the options for a single plan for the two of them are limited to a single state, there are few choices left in the "market." How can this be?
Why, yes. You may recall my anguish of several years ago, which frankly you showed little understanding of at the time. And if I'm not mistaken, you still support the party that brought you this policy and hundreds of others cut from the same deranged cloth. (But . . . Trump! Also, did you know that Republicans commit voting infractions, and indulge in gerrymandering?)
We talked for a long time about the few, bad options she had for making the most of this crisis. I found myself continually erupting in fury over how bad the individual market had become. Yes, I know it's bad! What have I been telling you! My friend had remained fundamentally unaware of it in two ways: by ignoring my experience--who wants to talk about ugly things?--and by enjoying employer-based coverage, which was supposed to be gutted by Obamacare, but Congress made the correct political calculation that it should infinitely delay the effective date of the benign new system for employer-based insurance, which is to say most voters. Congratulations: you have joined the ranks of the 3-5 million Americans who are self-employed or who retired before Medicare age. Congress didn't delay the effective date for you suckers. You are such a small voting bloc that you don't matter, and you will find that your friends, especially the progressive ones, have no idea what's happening to you in this dilemma and care less.
There is a terrible temptation to schadenfreude, which I fight off for one minute and fall into the next. This is a real human being I care about, and I don't want to enjoy her distress. At the same time I am incandescently angry that she is still retreating into banalities about the need for "society" to solve its problem of "cruelty," like that terrible man who's separating babies from their mothers at the border, or people who oppose a woman's right to choose--actually arrogating to themselves the right to make moral choices for others! And everything would be fine if we just had free health care, as the sensible humane countries do.
I'm afraid I unloaded on her. Well, at least after all these years I found the courage to tell her I was very, very angry with her for continuing to support the social policies that ripped such a scary hole in our lives and which, as far as I'm concerned, lead inevitably to eating zoo animals in the name of compassion. (Oh, yes, that's awful, isn't it? If only we could solve the problems of cruelty with better education.) At the same time, I know she supports horrible policies without malice. She is not someone who can think through the practical impact of a government solution. She wants one that feels compassionate, not one that demonstrably improves the evils she worries about. She is an artist, a good one, and she simply does not approach the world that way.
I found myself telling my friend to write a check to a real human being in need, with her own money. I'll give her credit: she was more grieved than huffy. She found a sudden need to get off the phone and deal with a car repairman, but I know she'll call back and try to mend fences. At least the air of stifling unreality that had crept over our recent conversations lifted a bit. Being angry with your oldest friend is not a good thing, but hiding it doesn't help. It only makes your heart go dead, and makes you want to start ducking your friend's calls.