On a rainy September evening in Washington, D.C., the National Mall shimmered with the glow of 10,000 tea lights, each nestled in a paper bag and bearing the name of someone touched by cancer. The candlelit vigil, set near the Lincoln Memorial with the soft hum of bagpipes in the background, was more than just a memorial—it was the capstone to a day of rare unity in a sharply divided capital.
Earlier that day, more than 500 volunteers from every corner of the United States poured into Capitol Hill, determined to keep cancer research and patient support high on Congress’s health care agenda. The event, organized by the American Cancer Society Cancer Action Network (ACS CAN), brought together people whose lives had been upended by cancer—regardless of their political leanings. As the government teetered on the brink of a shutdown due to a budget impasse between Democrats and Republicans, these advocates forged ahead, united by a shared mission.
Among them were Mary Catherine Johnson, a retired small-business owner from outside Rochester, New York, and Lexy Mealing, a former physician’s office worker from Long Island. Johnson, who voted for Donald Trump three times, and Mealing, a Democrat, might not agree on much politically. But both survived breast cancer, and both believe that when it comes to fighting the disease, party lines should fade into the background. “Not one person here discussed if you’re a Democrat, if you’re a Republican,” Mealing told KFF Health News. “Cancer doesn’t care.”
That sentiment echoed throughout the conference hotel as delegates from all 50 states practiced their pitches, shared deeply personal stories, and swapped advice on how to connect with lawmakers and their staff. The stakes were high: cancer is projected to claim more than 600,000 lives in the U.S. in 2025, according to ACS CAN. For the volunteers, the numbers aren’t just statistics—they’re family, friends, and even themselves. Johnson recalled that each of her mother’s ten siblings succumbed to cancer, as did a close friend who died at 57, leaving behind a young family.
“I think we’re probably the most divided that we’ve ever been,” Johnson reflected. “That scares me. Scares me for my grandchildren.” Katie Martin, a volunteer from outside Buffalo, shared similar worries. She recounted to KFF Health News how her daughter, after witnessing political protesters yelling at each other, asked, “What is this?” Martin struggled to answer. “It’s very heartbreaking,” she said.
Yet, if there’s one issue that still brings Americans together, it’s the fight against cancer. Recent polls cited by KFF Health News found that seven in ten voters—including majorities of both Democrats and Republicans—believe it’s very important for the federal government to fund medical research. Jarrett Lewis, a Republican pollster who conducted one such survey for patient groups, remarked, “It’s rare in today’s environment to see numbers like that. But almost everybody in this country knows somebody who’s had cancer.”
Similarly, a KFF poll found that three-quarters of U.S. adults, including most Republicans aligned with the Make America Great Again movement, want Congress to extend subsidies that help Americans buy health insurance through Affordable Care Act marketplaces. These subsidies are critical for people with chronic illnesses like cancer—and they’ve become a flashpoint in the ongoing budget standoff in Congress.
As the volunteers gathered in their matching blue polo shirts and armed with red information folders, they focused on three core goals: increasing funding for cancer research, retaining essential insurance subsidies, and expanding access to cancer screening. “We may not see eye to eye politically. We might not even see eye to eye in social circumstances,” said Martin. “But we can see beyond those differences because we’re here for one cause.”
The day began with a pep talk from college basketball coaches, then the volunteers fanned out across Capitol Hill, visiting 484 of the 535 Senate and House offices. Their approach was personal and persistent—sharing stories of loss, survival, and hope. Not every meeting was a slam dunk. Many Republican lawmakers expressed concern about the cost of extending insurance subsidies, while others from both parties voiced support for increased research funding and broader cancer screening programs.
Still, the New York delegation left Capitol Hill with a sense of accomplishment. “It was amazing,” Mealing said. “You could just feel the sense of, ‘Everybody stronger together.’” The volunteers’ presence was a powerful reminder that, even as Congress wrangled over spending bills and government operations ground to a halt, the fight against cancer remained a unifying force.
As dusk fell, the group reconvened for the candlelight vigil. The rain did little to dampen their spirits. Volunteers arranged the luminaries—white bags with handwritten messages of hope and remembrance—along a path by the reflecting pool. The word “HOPE” glowed in large illuminated letters, a beacon for all who passed by. For many, the vigil was deeply personal. Each flickering light represented a loved one lost, a survivor’s journey, or a battle still being fought.
John Manna, a self-described Reagan Republican from New York whose father died of lung cancer, reflected on what the day could teach a divided nation. “Talk to people,” he advised. “Get to know each other as people, and then you can understand somebody’s positions. We have little disagreements, but, you know, we don’t attack each other. We talk and discuss it.” Manna, like many others, pledged to return next year.
For all the political noise in Washington, the events of that September day offered a different narrative—one where Americans, regardless of party, could come together over a cause that transcends ideology. As Mealing put it, “Cancer doesn’t care.” And for at least one day, neither did anyone else in that determined, blue-shirted crowd.
