It started with a drive. No sponsor. No per diem. No press waiting at the finish line. Just me, a camera bag, a full tank of gas, and a cause that doesn’t clock out at five.
I left Missouri on my own dime. Stopped off to see family. Swapped war stories with old buddies. But this wasn’t a road trip. It was recon. A quiet mission to gather truth-like intel.
I didn’t head to D.C. as a tourist. I went as a photojournalist representing Two Black Ravens Foundation—the nonprofit I built to help heal wounded, injured, and ill service members through art.
Not the kind you hang to match a couch. The kind that punches. That stings. That says the hard things no one wants to hear.
And lately, telling the truth has come with a cost.
Art That Cut Too Close
After our last exhibit, artwork that refused to play nice, that held a mirror up to the country from a veteran’s point of view, we didn’t get questions. We got distance.
The kind that creeps in when truth makes people uncomfortable. It wasn’t the public who blinked. It was our landlord, more concerned about pleasing everyone than acknowledging that the art evoked emotions and created dialogue…something our country is lacking at the moment.
Instead of owning the discomfort, he tried outsourcing the judgment. Asked a local art org and our city art museum if they’d show the work. They said yes. Asked his staff. Eighty-one percent backed it. Two didn’t.
Eventually a meeting was called. Uninvited. Packaged as mentorship and program evaluation. But the strings were showing.
We were asked to trade autonomy for approval. Give up our edge in exchange for comfort.
But when guidance comes with conditions, it’s not mentorship. It’s control.
And when we chose to stick to our mission, keep our independence, we were quietly moved aside.
No announcement. No explanation. Just a fading presence.
Our name vanished from promotions. Our platform shrunk. No longer allowed to show art at their venue. What was once a vibrant space now reduced to a 260-square-foot office in a shared venue.
The message was loud enough:
"...The scope of Two Black Ravens Foundation role will be relegated to the terms of the lease. You have access to Suite 304 as outlined in the lease.
Art exhibition outside your leased space is no longer your responsibility.
TheTHIRDFloor will not be open for Artwalk in June. This will safeguard your existing exhibit materials until you can have them removed, being sensitive to your travel itinerary and availability to move any and all resources to your leased space. Venue hardware should remain in place for retrieval by landlord.
The complimentary promotion of your efforts we have historically provided including promotion through Gillioz online platforms will cease immediately."
But we’re not here to fit in. We’re here to tell the truth.
Intentionally minimized. Discretionarily sidelined. But never broke or silenced. Because our mission never needed permission.
The Capitol Building Was Just the Backdrop
With local issues temporarily in my review mirror, I drove into D.C. with a lens and a purpose: capture what others ignore.
Veterans didn’t show up at the Capitol Mall for photo ops. They came as protestors. Patriots. Not those bumper sticker “Don’t tread on me, Come and Take It” “III (3%’ers) too scared to actually go to combat” Patriots. I mean the kind that actually served in foreign lands, who left family for months and years at a time, who swore an oath to protect the constitution against all enemies foreign and domestic and to ensure life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for ALL Americans.
They brought signs. Brought scars. Brought voices that have shouted too long into a system that doesn’t answer.
A System That Performs, But Doesn’t Deliver
Every story has a villain. This one doesn’t wear a mask. It wears a title.
It tweets about "supporting the troops and veterans" Then signs off on budget cuts to veteran benefits earned in blood and somehow allows 180 VA Executives to collect bonuses that amounted to nearly $11 Million.
Meanwhile, suicide rates don’t move. Homelessness rises. Job programs spin in circles.
They call it slow progress. We call it gaslighting.
And when you count the overdoses, the self-medicating practices, the slow-motion suicides—it’s not 18-22 veterans a day we are losing. It’s closer to 40.
That’s not a stat. That’s a mass grave. Being dug EVERY FUCKING DAY for the last 24 years.
Roughly 350,400 Veterans in total.
I Listened Because No One Else Was
At the rally, I didn’t just raise a camera. I listened.
Veterans denied care. Parents afraid their GWOT kids won’t receive the mental health care they need. Families of forgotten wars clinging to hope that bureaucracy won’t kill the people they love.
VA staff scared of layoffs. Influencers chasing content, not change.
Everyone was talking. No one was listening. So I did.
The Dropkick Murphys Played Like Warriors
And then, they came. The Dropkick Murphys.
Not for press. Not for applause. To stand.
Their music hit like a war drum. The Mall shook with something real.
For a moment, it wasn’t protest. It was promise.
But as they left the stage and the amps cooled, the old noise crept back in.
Senators, Former Congressional Reps, and well-knowns from a variety of organizations offered soundbites. Told us to vote. To donate. To stay hopeful.
In my opinion, not one had the spine to say: Let’s audit the VA. Let’s fire dead weight. Let’s reward results, not excuses. Let’s back the ones already doing the damn work.
They didn’t say it. But I will.
This Is What Should’ve Been Said
If they’d traded theater for truth, here’s what those who came to protest would have heard:
The VA has over $400 billion in FY25. Make it count. Cut under-performers. Kill dead programs. Try out new innovative ideas and fund what works. Track it. Publish quarterly results. And don't reallocate money from mental health and suicide prevention programs over to VA expansion and development.
Scrap the rule that says a vet needs a job to qualify for housing. Try getting hired without an address. Let’s fix problems, not reinforce broken policies.
Launch a Veteran Lifecycle Program: housing, healing, education, job training, and fiscal management practices. Structure it like a university. Block scheduling. Integrated services.
Make VA leadership embed with grassroots groups every year. No handlers. No fluff. Just truth and accountability.
Publish full contact directories. No more hiding behind anonymous inboxes and phone numbers that go nowhere.
Suspend all executive/director bonuses, and initiate objective term limits with removal options for director/assistant director positions until suicide, housing, and job placement stats actually improve and reach national level benchmarks.
Because leadership isn’t about showing up. It’s about showing results.
The Challenge: From Podiums to Roundtables
So here’s my challenge: To those who showed up. And those who didn’t. Senators Duckworth and Blumenthal. Former Representative Lamb and Kinzinger. The VA doc who spoke. Hell even Shawn VanDiver.
Talk to me. Not on a stage. Not into a mic.
Sit down. Bring your notes. Bring your silence. I’ll bring the truth and solutions.
Let’s build strategy over slogans. Accountability over applause.
Odin's Ravens
Two Black Ravens Foundation will keep driving forward into the storm. We’ll keep hanging hard truth images. Keep showing up, with cameras, with canvases, with community.
We didn’t go to D.C. with hope. We went with purpose.
And we’ll keep going. Whether they listen or not.
But maybe, just maybe, someone will read this and finally say:
“It’s time to do more than show up. It’s time to show results.”
Until then, I’ve got a lens, a cause, and a community worth fighting for.
And that’s more than enough.