Yesterday afternoon I accompanied a couple of my colleagues to a depressed industrial town 2-3 hours north of where I live and teach. The occasion was a sad one-and the decision to go made on the spur of the moment. The mother of one of my students had died of complications from diabetes. D*****, my student, is an exceptional young man, very bright, driven to succeed, and utterly devoted to his mom. He and his family are members of the large community of Dominican-Americans living in this city.

We were in the middle of the final examination period, now over, when this young man learned that his mother had taken a serious turn for the worse. He went up to visit her in the hospital over the weekend, then spend four hours on four different kinds of public transportation to get back to the University to take two final exams on Monday. Everyone assured him that he would incur no penalty by taking the same later, but he had promised his mother to finish his freshman year and wanted to be able to tell her that he had kept his word. After he returned to his town and after his family had gathered, she was taken off life support and passed peacefully.

I was one of three from the faculty and staff who went up-not because we had to, but because we were so impressed by this young man and because we knew that the mother who raised him had to have been a wonderful woman. It has been a long time since I was the wealthiest person in a large assembly-in fact, it may never have happened before. And in that room, I knew that many of the people there had helped shape the fine young man grieving with an almost painful dignity. I owe them a debt, as I owe his mother a debt.

But here's the point. Diabetes doesn't play nice, but I'd wager dollars to donuts that D's mother would still be alive if she had access to the health care to which I have access. But mine is a bennie of where I work. Most of the people in that room get health care haphazardly-the way most of the working poor get it-sans insurance, and from crisis to crisis in overburdened and understaffed emergency rooms.

Providentially, when I got home there was an e-mail on my computer from my President. I wager some of you got the same e-mail that I got-a plea to help him push health care through Congress. He asked me to consider sponsoring an organizing party, or attending one. I will. He asked me to sign a petition and tell my health story. I did sign, and I told this one. He asked me to make a cash contribution to fight Blue Cross-Blue Shield. I was delighted to do that, for my own sake and for the sake of my student's relatives and everyone else at the mercy of the insurance cabal in this country.

After I pushed the donate button, I reflected a little on the entire experience. I realized that the Community Organizer-in-Chief was trying to organize me-to organize US. Well, I'm organized now. I'm hoping some of you will become organized, too.

Last November, the American people sent Washington a clear mandate for change. But when the polls close, the true work of citizenship begins. That's what Organizing for America is all about. Now, in these crucial moments, your voice once again has extraordinary power. I'm counting on you to use it.

Thank you,

President Barack Obama

Obama can't fight all his battles by himself, and too many in Congress, while nominally of his party, are weak and/or venal. Obama can't break the hold of the health lobbies on our Representatives and Senators, but maybe we can, with him, together. D knows I'm in his corner. Public Opinion is, too. And so, too, are you, I hope.