An open letter from the Indignant Shareholders of the American Health-Care Industry

There comes a time in every great nation’s history when a privileged, fragile, and thoroughly misunderstood group must rise up and speak truth to power. Today, that group is us—the investors, stakeholders, dividend harvesters, and general financial caretakers of the American health-care system.

We have been quiet for too long.
We have endured far too much criticism from those who refuse to see the world as it truly is.
And now, with heavy hearts and exasperated sighs, we must address the growing epidemic of selfishness among the American poor.

Yes, selfishness.
The poor have become remarkably demanding. Astonishingly rude. Wildly inconsiderate of the delicate emotional ecosystem that sustains us: quarterly profits.

To put it bluntly: it is profoundly un-American for sick people to ask us to lose money.

THE TRAGEDY OF TODAY’S AMERICAN SHAREHOLDER

For generations, the American health-care investor has been the nation’s most underappreciated hero. It was our courage—our willingness to put our money into an industry that monetizes basic human survival—that made this nation great.

We didn’t choose the health-care sector because it was profitable.
We chose it because it was patriotic.

Where other countries treat health care as a public good, we made the visionary decision to treat it like a gym membership with a roulette wheel attached. While Europeans lazily enjoy universally affordable care, we pioneered a truly innovative model:

Sickness pays. Health doesn’t.
It’s breathtakingly elegant.

And yet, instead of gratitude, what do we get?
Protests. Outrage. Calls for “reform.”

A growing chorus of Americans—many of them lower middle class or (brace yourself) below—are demanding that insurance companies lower premiums, cap out-of-pocket costs, and somehow operate without funneling billions into our portfolios.

It’s offensive.
It’s vulgar.
It’s practically Marxism in yoga pants.

THE POOR HAVE STOPPED KNOWING THEIR PLACE

There was a time—call it the golden era—when the poor understood that health care was a luxury, not a right. They knew that insurance was something you earned by working yourself to the bone. They knew that medical debt was a badge of honor. They understood that if you could not afford your insulin, you could always ration it, pray harder, or exhibit “personal responsibility.”

But now?
Thanks to “awareness,” “data,” and “basic human empathy,” they’ve become emboldened. They expect predictable prices. Transparent billing. Affordable prescriptions.

It’s astonishing how little the poor appreciate the emotional harm this causes us.

Have these people ever stopped to consider what a reduction in premiums would do to a shareholder?

Imagine a retired couple in the Hamptons facing the horror of a smaller dividend check because some single parent in Ohio doesn’t want to pay $900 a month for a silver-tier plan that barely covers a sprained ankle.

The selfishness is breathtaking.

WE HAVE RIGHTS TOO, YOU KNOW

In this era of rampant entitlement, it’s crucial to remember that investors are human beings. We have needs. We have dreams. We have private island commitments that don’t pay for themselves.

Our portfolios are sacred. They are delicate ecosystems that depend on one core principle: upward pressure on health-care costs.
Every time a politician dares to whisper the words “public option” or “drug price cap,” our hearts skip a beat—and not in the fun, yacht-buying way.

The poor seem to believe that a healthy society requires healthy people.
But we know the truth: a healthy society requires healthy profit margins.

That’s why it’s so hurtful—so emotionally destabilizing—to hear people demanding lower costs. They talk about “survival” and “access.” They mention things like “children,” “cancer,” and “bankruptcy” as if these concepts should supersede the financial security of those of us who graciously chose to invest in human frailty.

The nerve.

A SYSTEM DESIGNED WITH LOVE (FOR OUR RETURNS)

The American health-care system is a masterpiece of design, the Tesla of social structures. Every inefficiency, every convoluted billing code, every surprise ambulance fee—it all exists for one purpose: to ensure that investor returns remain robust and reliable.

You think those Byzantine networks of preferred providers built themselves?

No.
We paid smart people to engineer them specifically to generate “out-of-network penalties,” which are the cornerstone of any stable investor diet.

You want lower copays?
You want simplified drug formularies?
You want a system that prioritizes human well-being?

Great ideas. Truly adorable.

But ask yourself: who do these reforms hurt the most?

Not the politicians.
Not the CEOs.
Not the pharmaceutical companies.

No—the real victims would be us, the investors.
The ones who believed in America enough to profit from its medical catastrophes.

THE ACCUSATIONS MUST STOP

The poor are increasingly accusing us of being “greedy” or “exploitative,” simply because we refuse to support policies that would reduce our earnings in order to keep them alive.

This is slander.

We are not greedy.
We are deeply principled.

Our principle is simple:
If health-care companies don’t make money, neither do we.
And if we don’t make money, then who will?
Certainly not the poor—they’re too busy demanding that chemotherapy be affordable.

A CALL FOR CIVILITY

So we ask—politely, respectfully, and with the sternness of a disappointed parent—for the poor to reconsider their tone.

Stop asking us to sacrifice.
Stop insisting that your health is more important than our investment income.
Stop framing your survival as a moral issue.

It’s tacky.
It’s divisive.
And it undermines the very foundations of American capitalism.

If you need affordable health care, we encourage the mature and responsible solution:
stop being poor.

Until then, please refrain from burdening us with your medical sob stories, your bills, or your misplaced belief that life itself should not be a business model.

We’re investors.
We’re sensitive.
And your whining is very un-American.