[Congressional Record Volume 171, Number 76 (Wednesday, May 7, 2025)]
[House]
[Page H1887]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
ADVOCATING AGAINST MEDICAID CUTS
(Mr. Auchincloss of Massachusetts was recognized to address the House
for 5 minutes.)
Mr. AUCHINCLOSS. Mr. Speaker, I rise today to advocate against the
funding cuts to the Medicaid program that have been proposed for
consideration during the budget reconciliation process.
Specifically, the Energy and Commerce Committee, of which I am a
member, has been tasked with cutting $880 billion of Federal spending
across the healthcare programs it oversees, a vast majority of which
supports Medicaid.
Cutting this program will be used in service of tax cuts for people
who don't need tax cuts and will be devastating to children and
families who do need the healthcare.
{time} 1045
Mr. Speaker, as we discuss cuts to this program, we must not forget
the people behind these budgetary numbers. As such, I will highlight
one Massachusetts family today. I will be reading a poem entitled,
``The Mathematics of Mercy.'' It was written by Betsy Johnson. Betsy is
an autism educator with the ARC of Massachusetts and a mother of two
young adult children with autism and other intellectual disabilities.
They rely on Medicaid.
She shared this poem with me to highlight the importance of Medicaid
with her family and all families who care for their loved ones with
disabilities. It speaks more powerfully than any amount of budgetary
debate.
``The Mathematics of Mercy'':
A direct care worker holds
Someone's universe for $16 an hour,
Lifts world, bathes dignity back into being
Her hands trembling now
As she reads the letter
Saying her client's hours are cut,
Knowing some bodies can't survive
On spreadsheet logic.
They speak of cuts in marble rooms,
Voices that have never whispered,
``Your therapy is never medically necessary''
To a nonverbal child
Who just learned to make sounds
Like morning birds.
In living rooms turned sacred spaces,
Therapists pack up their tools of possibility--
Weighted vests, sensory brushes,
Piece of someone's future
Now deemed too expensive
By men who've never seen
How a body learns to trust itself
One careful touch at a time.
Listen to power chairs going still,
To screens falling dark in throats
That borrow them for voice,
To support workers saying goodbye
To people who stopped being clients
Somewhere between the first smile
And the last hug,
While offshore accounts grow fat
On the mathematics of suffering.
This is how a nation bleeds:
Not on battlefields but in group homes,
Not from enemy fire but from funding gaps,
Where independence becomes too expensive,
Where institution beds cost less
Than community care.
In the halls of power,
They call this fiscal responsibility
As if responsibility means
Telling a mother her daughter
Can no longer see the therapist
Who taught her how to speak,
As if America means
Pricing dignity like a luxury good.
Every denial letter bears
A signature of someone
Who has never watched a child
Take their first steps at 12,
Never seen the light in eyes
When words finally come,
Never felt the weight
Of a family's hopes
Balanced against
The coldness of cost.
Yet in these rooms where care persists,
Where love defies their calculations,
We piece together what they tear apart
Like a quilt of borrowed time,
With midnight shifts and morning prayers,
Hands that hold when budgets say let go.
Here, in this web of grace we weave,
Because what flows through us is stronger
Than their ledgers and our stubborn refusal
To let spreadsheets tell us what a life is worth.
Again, this comes from Betsy Johnson, an autism educator with the ARC
of Massachusetts.
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