Every day during officer training, just before morning exercises began, our drill instructor would scan the formation and ask, “Where are my walking dead?” It was a request for anyone who was hurting to come forward, which rarely happened. An injury could lead to removal from the class and a delayed graduation, so we kept our mouths shut, routinely hiding both our ailments and our painkillers. But years later, while in the transition assistance class that’s required before leaving the service, a veterans benefits adviser encouraged the opposite: “Don’t be a tough guy. Claim everything.”
Every day during officer training, just before morning exercises began, our drill instructor would scan the formation and ask, “Where are my walking dead?” It was a request for anyone who was hurting to come forward, which rarely happened. An injury could lead to removal from the class and a delayed graduation, so we kept our mouths shut, routinely hiding both our ailments and our painkillers. But years later, while in the transition assistance class that’s required before leaving the service, a veterans benefits adviser encouraged the opposite: “Don’t be a tough guy. Claim everything.”
The adviser’s counsel wasn’t a directive to defraud the government; it was permission to identify every allowable condition and not feel weak for doing so. Some things were easy to name, such as bum knees and shoulders, hearing loss and bad backs. Others took convincing — anxiety, razor bumps and insomnia just seemed a part of life, not a reason for compensation. In uniform, a failed fitness test harmed one’s economic prospects. It put promotions and reenlistments at risk and could even be grounds for discharge. But out of uniform, more diagnoses improved one’s financial position. That can turn disability ratings into a commodity, attracting companies whose bottom line relies on making veterans more disabled.
The Post’s recent series on veterans’ disability benefits highlighted the need for system modernization, stricter oversight of the claims process, and regulations for private disability consultancies. Veterans serving in Congress and advocacy organizations have suggested The Post’s reporting overstates the problem and characterizes veterans as “a group of dishonest fraudsters and cheaters.” There are certainly deceitful people and practices, but the far more common find among the nearly 7 million disabled veterans, which includes me, are people who want to understand the available benefits and accept no more. And no less.
My rating arrived not long after I completed the mandatory medical exam and record review following 20 years of service as a naval cryptologist and speechwriter. In the world of veterans’ disability, a rating higher than 50 percent comes with a lifetime of payments and benefits, additional compensation for family and paid on top of retirees’ monthly pension; 100 percent nearly triples disability pay and adds free medical and dental care for life.
Mine didn’t reach either threshold, a source of pity among my peers and a target for the opportunistic companies that soon came calling. These claims predators were fast talkers and easily spotted, charging an arm and a leg for a guarantee that their doctors would deliver the highest rating possible. The for-profit consultants were experts in how the system worked, coaching veterans on how to use it to their advantage. It all raised questions with financial and moral dimensions: Is every benefit available also every benefit due? And is a disability check worth feeling like a dead man walking?
Congress sets disability pay levels and authorizes the Veterans Benefits Administration to determine which conditions qualify and calculate ratings. The list is extensive, necessarily. The country has learned that disability comes in many forms. It has learned through trial and error that helping veterans reintegrate into society is an invaluable social good. And it has also learned that if you want volunteers to risk their lives for below-market pay, the benefits package better be outstanding.
At the urging of a couple of friends, I talked to a consultant. She quickly noted several things in my record that were unaccounted for in my rating, listing all the conditions — and compensation — being left on the table. “I’m in pretty good health, though,” I told her. When she asked if I’d used the GI Bill for a degree or the mortgage benefits for a home, I could see her point coming. “If you didn’t feel guilty using every benefit of those programs, why the shame in using all of this one?” No more than what’s allowed, of course — but importantly to her bottom line, no less, either.
Funding programs for veterans is one of the few remaining areas of bipartisan consensus in Congress. The list of covered conditions has grown over the years, to include 2022’s Pact Act, which granted disability status to service members exposed decades ago to toxic substances. In some cases, the disability is considered presumptive, removing the onus from the veteran to prove an ailment was a direct result of military service. Perhaps the question of worthiness should be presumptive, too, assuming a condition’s presence on the rating list is all the justification a veteran should need to declare it.
My bum knee and shoulder show the toll routine military service takes on your body. I’m grateful for a nation that acknowledges that and offers care in response. I still suffer from tough-guy syndrome, hesitant to claim conditions that the military taught me to manage on my own. But the cost of service, to a person and to a nation, is nothing to be ashamed of.
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