America’s Betrayal of Its Veterans—and the Silence That Kills
Ashli Babbitt, a 35-year-old Air Force veteran, served honorably for 12 years across active duty, the Reserves, and the Air National Guard, including deployments to Afghanistan, Iraq, and the United Arab Emirates. On January 6, 2021, she was fatally shot by Capitol Police as she attempted to breach the Speaker's Lobby during the Capitol riot. Supporters of Donald Trump, other right-wing politicians and pundits rushed to call her a patriot wronged, a martyr for their cause.
But not long after her death, the Air Force denied her full military funeral honors. However, in August 2025, it reversed that decision and extended that offer to her family. Babbitt was reported to have been cremated, so if accepted, the honors would include a uniformed detail of at least two service members, a ceremonial folding and presentation of the U.S. flag, and the playing of "Taps."
Meanwhile, last night, somewhere in America, a veteran—maybe one who fought in Vietnam, maybe in Iraq, maybe in Afghanistan—died alone on a sidewalk, under an overpass, in some forgotten alley. No cameras. No headlines. No twenty-one-gun salute. Just a coroner’s van arriving in the dark to take another body of a man or woman who once wore the uniform of this country, who once swore the same oath, who once stood ready to lay down their life for us.
This isn’t about Ashli Babbitt. She served her country, too. But elevating her death into martyrdom while ignoring the tens of thousands of veterans dying from neglect every single year is a moral obscenity. It tells the truth about America’s priorities. We are a nation that will always find the money to make more veterans, but never the will to take care of the ones we already have.
That’s not honor. That’s hypocrisy.
Every politician who votes to slash the VA’s budget while boasting about “thank you for your service” should be forced to spend one night in a homeless shelter where veterans sleep. Every bureaucrat who buries claims in red tape should be required to look a veteran in the eye as they explain why the system failed them. Every citizen who shrugs this off should remember that freedom isn’t free—and neither is the duty to care for those who paid its price.
After the Civil War, thousands of Union veterans filed for pensions and disability benefits—but their case files were often literally bound in red tape, a ribbon marking “official business” that somehow made waiting even longer. Union veteran Elijah Case of the Third Cavalry of Michigan wrote to the New York Tribune on October 21, 1887, lamenting that when he applied for his Army pension he fought a losing battle for four years “against endless red tape,” with failing eyesight, limbs partially paralyzed, and “infirmities and disease that come from the exposure of body and life in the service of my country.” Years of delays turned those red-taped files into a cruel joke: the very government that Case and others fought for, holding their hard-earned benefits hostage while they waited, shivering, hungry, and ignored. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.
For decades, politicians of both parties have stood before cameras on Memorial Day and Veterans Day, pounding their chests, reciting slogans about how America “never forgets” its warriors. They wave flags, cut ribbons, and give speeches about sacrifice and freedom. Then, quietly, behind closed doors, they cut budgets for the VA. They delay modernization of VA hospitals. They ignore the staffing shortages. They downplay the crushing backlog of disability claims. They shrug at the suicide epidemic, the opioid crisis, the PTSD that still torments tens of thousands who came home alive but never truly came home.
Cuts to the VA aren’t just line items on a spreadsheet. They are empty prescriptions. They are counseling sessions never scheduled. They are hospital beds that don’t exist. They are veterans waiting six months to see a doctor while their conditions worsen. They are the direct cause of those men and women dying under bridges, in back alleys, in shelters that are always full, or simply giving up on life altogether.
And we know the numbers. On any given night, more than 32,000 veterans are homeless in America. Many more are one missed paycheck, one untreated injury, one bureaucratic delay away from the same fate. An estimated 17 veterans die by suicide every single day. That’s over 6,000 a year—more than twice the number of two decades of combat losses in Afghanistan, every year, at home, in silence.
We don’t see them. Not unless you make the effort. Drive through Los Angeles, where Veterans Row once lined the sidewalks outside the VA’s gates. Visit Seattle, where tent cities stretch under the interstates, veterans among them. Or walk the streets of New York, where the shelters still hold hundreds of men and women who once wore this country’s uniform. They once carried the flag into battle—now too many of them are left carrying nothing but the weight of a country that turned its back on them, shivering on cardboard instead of in beds that honor their service.
And still, politicians line up to give speeches about “freedom” and “patriotism,” wrapping themselves in the flag while quietly gutting the very services veterans rely on—because nothing says “we care” like a ribbon-cutting ceremony while your constituents die in shelters.
It took Jon Stewart shaming Congress on national television to get them to finally pass the PACT Act, giving health care to veterans poisoned by burn pits in Iraq and Afghanistan—14 years after the Disabled American Veterans first brought the issue to public awareness. That’s the level of outrage it takes in America just to get basic care for men and women who sacrificed everything. Think about that— veterans had to rely on a comedian to plead their case, while Presidents and Members of Congress played procedural games with their lives—and some still call it “fiscally responsible governance.” Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.
And all the while, the same politicians who oppose real investment in veterans care somehow always find room in the budget for tax cuts to billionaires, calling it a “big, beautiful bill.” They’ll give corporations millions in handouts without blinking, but when it comes to veterans suffering from PTSD, cancer, or homelessness, suddenly it’s “fiscally irresponsible.”
President Donald Trump ordered soldiers paraded down the streets of Washington, D.C. this past Fourth of July. But when the applause dies down, we abandon them. We let them fight the VA for years to prove certain health conditions are service-connected. We let them wait months for a mental health appointment. We let them freeze to death on winter streets.
And then, when they’re gone, we whisper “thank you for your service” over a coffin, fold a flag, and pretend we kept our promise.
That’s not patriotism. That’s betrayal.
(c) 2025. Becky Romero.
Permission is granted to republish in full online or in print so long as a link is provided back to this page and to BeckyRomero.com
But not long after her death, the Air Force denied her full military funeral honors. However, in August 2025, it reversed that decision and extended that offer to her family. Babbitt was reported to have been cremated, so if accepted, the honors would include a uniformed detail of at least two service members, a ceremonial folding and presentation of the U.S. flag, and the playing of "Taps."
Meanwhile, last night, somewhere in America, a veteran—maybe one who fought in Vietnam, maybe in Iraq, maybe in Afghanistan—died alone on a sidewalk, under an overpass, in some forgotten alley. No cameras. No headlines. No twenty-one-gun salute. Just a coroner’s van arriving in the dark to take another body of a man or woman who once wore the uniform of this country, who once swore the same oath, who once stood ready to lay down their life for us.
This isn’t about Ashli Babbitt. She served her country, too. But elevating her death into martyrdom while ignoring the tens of thousands of veterans dying from neglect every single year is a moral obscenity. It tells the truth about America’s priorities. We are a nation that will always find the money to make more veterans, but never the will to take care of the ones we already have.
That’s not honor. That’s hypocrisy.
Every politician who votes to slash the VA’s budget while boasting about “thank you for your service” should be forced to spend one night in a homeless shelter where veterans sleep. Every bureaucrat who buries claims in red tape should be required to look a veteran in the eye as they explain why the system failed them. Every citizen who shrugs this off should remember that freedom isn’t free—and neither is the duty to care for those who paid its price.
After the Civil War, thousands of Union veterans filed for pensions and disability benefits—but their case files were often literally bound in red tape, a ribbon marking “official business” that somehow made waiting even longer. Union veteran Elijah Case of the Third Cavalry of Michigan wrote to the New York Tribune on October 21, 1887, lamenting that when he applied for his Army pension he fought a losing battle for four years “against endless red tape,” with failing eyesight, limbs partially paralyzed, and “infirmities and disease that come from the exposure of body and life in the service of my country.” Years of delays turned those red-taped files into a cruel joke: the very government that Case and others fought for, holding their hard-earned benefits hostage while they waited, shivering, hungry, and ignored. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.
For decades, politicians of both parties have stood before cameras on Memorial Day and Veterans Day, pounding their chests, reciting slogans about how America “never forgets” its warriors. They wave flags, cut ribbons, and give speeches about sacrifice and freedom. Then, quietly, behind closed doors, they cut budgets for the VA. They delay modernization of VA hospitals. They ignore the staffing shortages. They downplay the crushing backlog of disability claims. They shrug at the suicide epidemic, the opioid crisis, the PTSD that still torments tens of thousands who came home alive but never truly came home.
Cuts to the VA aren’t just line items on a spreadsheet. They are empty prescriptions. They are counseling sessions never scheduled. They are hospital beds that don’t exist. They are veterans waiting six months to see a doctor while their conditions worsen. They are the direct cause of those men and women dying under bridges, in back alleys, in shelters that are always full, or simply giving up on life altogether.
And we know the numbers. On any given night, more than 32,000 veterans are homeless in America. Many more are one missed paycheck, one untreated injury, one bureaucratic delay away from the same fate. An estimated 17 veterans die by suicide every single day. That’s over 6,000 a year—more than twice the number of two decades of combat losses in Afghanistan, every year, at home, in silence.
We don’t see them. Not unless you make the effort. Drive through Los Angeles, where Veterans Row once lined the sidewalks outside the VA’s gates. Visit Seattle, where tent cities stretch under the interstates, veterans among them. Or walk the streets of New York, where the shelters still hold hundreds of men and women who once wore this country’s uniform. They once carried the flag into battle—now too many of them are left carrying nothing but the weight of a country that turned its back on them, shivering on cardboard instead of in beds that honor their service.
And still, politicians line up to give speeches about “freedom” and “patriotism,” wrapping themselves in the flag while quietly gutting the very services veterans rely on—because nothing says “we care” like a ribbon-cutting ceremony while your constituents die in shelters.
It took Jon Stewart shaming Congress on national television to get them to finally pass the PACT Act, giving health care to veterans poisoned by burn pits in Iraq and Afghanistan—14 years after the Disabled American Veterans first brought the issue to public awareness. That’s the level of outrage it takes in America just to get basic care for men and women who sacrificed everything. Think about that— veterans had to rely on a comedian to plead their case, while Presidents and Members of Congress played procedural games with their lives—and some still call it “fiscally responsible governance.” Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.
And all the while, the same politicians who oppose real investment in veterans care somehow always find room in the budget for tax cuts to billionaires, calling it a “big, beautiful bill.” They’ll give corporations millions in handouts without blinking, but when it comes to veterans suffering from PTSD, cancer, or homelessness, suddenly it’s “fiscally irresponsible.”
President Donald Trump ordered soldiers paraded down the streets of Washington, D.C. this past Fourth of July. But when the applause dies down, we abandon them. We let them fight the VA for years to prove certain health conditions are service-connected. We let them wait months for a mental health appointment. We let them freeze to death on winter streets.
And then, when they’re gone, we whisper “thank you for your service” over a coffin, fold a flag, and pretend we kept our promise.
That’s not patriotism. That’s betrayal.
(c) 2025. Becky Romero.
Permission is granted to republish in full online or in print so long as a link is provided back to this page and to BeckyRomero.com
36-40, F
