By Matt Underwood I was a health insurance executive. What I saw made me quit. It wasn’t a single event, but a slow dawning realization of the system’s inherent cruelty and the complicity of those within it. The pursuit of profit above all else permeated every decision, every meeting, every strategy session.
It started subtly. The subtle nudges towards denying claims, framed as “cost-saving measures.” The training emphasized identifying “unnecessary expenses,” turning adjusters into soldiers in a war against the insured. Denying a claim from a woman who’d paid premiums for twenty years, citing “pre-existing damage,” was a turning point. It felt profoundly wrong, a betrayal of the very trust the system was built upon.
Then there were the larger scale maneuvers. Meetings focused not on patient care, but on actively discouraging people from utilizing their insurance. The chilling similarity to outright violence struck me; bureaucratic death was just as real, albeit more insidious and accepted. The “confirmation of benefits” being dismissed as irrelevant, a mere formality, was blatant disregard for the truth. The cavalier attitude – “honey, we’re an insurance company, we can do anything we want” – spoke volumes about the unchecked power they wielded.
The stories I encountered were heartbreaking. A family denied coverage for a son’s birth due to an internal error, a plan enrolled in the wrong state forcing them to travel hours to a facility that would accept their coverage. Another heartbreaking story that permanently etched itself into my memory involved a seventeen-year-old leukemia patient whose life-saving liver transplant was delayed, then canceled, by a distant medical director who deemed her too sick. The girl died hours after the insurance company’s reversal. The callous indifference was palpable; a life extinguished due to corporate greed. Legal protection shielded them from any accountability.
I participated in meetings with investors, the relentless pursuit of higher returns driving every decision. Profit margins were celebrated, not improved patient outcomes. The system rewarded denial, incentivizing the very actions that harm people. The golden handcuffs were real; the substantial salary and benefits made it difficult to leave, but the moral cost was too high.
The issue transcends individual actors. It’s a systemic problem. Even non-profit organizations were rife with cost-cutting measures that often prioritized administrative efficiency over patient well-being, labeling employees as per diem workers to avoid benefits. The relentless pressure to reduce costs, to increase profits, overshadowed any commitment to genuine care. It was morally bankrupt.
I witnessed firsthand how political influence protected this corrupt system. Lawsuits were overturned, settlements reached to suppress damaging information. The sheer scale of the financial influence was astonishing, leaving me feeling utterly helpless. A billion-dollar judgment overturned, a massive political campaign donation, and a later 250 million dollar settlement for that same campaign. It was clear that justice was not a priority.
This wasn’t just about denying claims. It was about manipulating the system to benefit the wealthy, leaving those most vulnerable behind. The soaring health costs, the annual increases, the lack of effective government intervention—all highlighted the brokenness of a system where the people who control it profit from its failure.
The experience left me deeply disillusioned. It wasn’t just a job; it was active participation in a system that was designed to profit from others’ suffering. The realization of my own complicity, my part in this machinery of cruelty, led to my departure. The memories haunt me, a constant reminder of the human cost of unfettered corporate greed and the urgent need for systemic change. The moral implications are profound and the systemic corruption deeply rooted. My hope is that by speaking out, I might contribute to a necessary and long-overdue reckoning within the health insurance industry.