Not long ago, I found myself at a battered VFW hall, eavesdropping on a group of vets. One scrappy old-timer put it best: “They keep counting us, but they never listen.” That line stuck with me—and now, with the Veterans Insight Panel flooding the news, I see both the hope and the trap. On the surface, this data revolution feels liberating. Behind the headline? A power play, as old as the bourgeois state. Let’s drag the smiling PR into the harsh sunlight of material reality.
Behind the Curtain: Who Benefits from 'Comprehensive Veteran Data'?
Reflecting on the journey to truly understand America’s veterans, I am struck by how long our data systems have failed to capture the full story. For decades, major surveys—especially those relying on Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) records—have left out nearly half of all veterans. This exclusion is not just a statistical oversight; it shapes the very narrative of who veterans are and what they need. I often ask: Why have we allowed these gaps to persist? Who decides which veterans count, and who gets left behind?
The recent launch of the Veterans Insight Panel by RAND Corporation and NORC at the University of Chicago promises a new era. With a starting cohort of about 3,000 veterans, the panel is designed to be more representative—by age, geography, and background—than anything before. Each survey draws at least 1,000 responses, a scale that allows for rapid, “agile” research. But as we celebrate this progress, I find myself asking: Who truly benefits from this new wave of comprehensive veteran data?
Who Controls the Narrative?
RAND and NORC highlight the panel’s diversity and inclusivity, and I am encouraged by their efforts to dig deeper than the usual demographic checkboxes. For the first time, we can ask about combat experiences, exposure to hazards, and other details that matter. Yet, even as we move toward a more nuanced understanding, I am mindful that the power to shape the narrative still rests with the institutions controlling the data.
Who decides which questions get asked? For about $2,000 per question, advocacy groups and researchers can tap into the panel. This opens doors for organizations seeking to improve veterans’ lives, but it also means that those with funding and influence have the loudest voice. The risk is that the data, while more comprehensive, still serves institutional priorities before individual needs.
Data as Commodity: Whose Value?
A Marxist lens reminds us: Data is a commodity. When we gather veterans’ stories and experiences, we risk reducing them to numbers—valuable not for their humanity, but for what they offer to institutions, policymakers, and funders. The Veterans Insight Panel is a tool for advocacy, yes, but it is also a resource that can be bought and sold.
Who profits from this data? Universities gain prestige, nonprofits secure grants, and government agencies justify programs. Meanwhile, the veterans themselves may see only incremental change. Their lived experiences become data points—fuel for reports, presentations, and funding proposals. The challenge is ensuring that this data, now more robust than ever, is used to drive real, human-centered solutions rather than simply advancing institutional agendas.
Agility for Whom?
The promise of “agile” research—delivering insights quickly, with over 1,000 responses per survey—sounds impressive. But I wonder: Who does this agility serve? Is it designed to help veterans, or to meet the needs of policymakers, researchers, and organizations seeking quick answers?
Rapid data can inform urgent policy decisions, but it can also lead to surface-level fixes.
Speed may prioritize the needs of funders or agencies over the deeper, slower work of true change.
Agility is valuable, but only if it translates into meaningful, lasting improvements for veterans and their families.
As I watch the evolution of veteran data, I am inspired by the progress but remain vigilant. The question is not just how much data we collect, but whose interests it serves. Only by keeping veterans’ voices at the center can we ensure that “comprehensive” data leads to comprehensive, compassionate action.
The State's Shadow: Veteran Suffering as Institutional Design
Reflecting on the realities facing America’s veterans, I am struck by a difficult truth: so much of their suffering is not accidental, but a product of how our institutions are designed. When I see that one-third of veteran job-seekers are underemployed, I can’t help but ask—are we witnessing a system failure, or something closer to planned exploitation? The numbers are staggering, and they demand more than just sympathy; they demand a reckoning with the structures that produce these outcomes.
For decades, the state has offered veterans a patchwork of “solutions” for health, employment, and education. But too often, these bureaucratic answers echo Lenin’s critique: the state as a tool of class rule, not liberation. The very systems meant to serve veterans can become barriers—gatekeeping access, limiting opportunity, and reducing lived experience to checkboxes and quotas. When I see how major surveys have historically left out nearly half of all veterans, I see not just oversight, but a design that keeps the full story in the shadows.
Our so-called resilience programs—commissaries, food aid, special school meal pricing—are often celebrated as proof of our nation’s commitment. Yet, I can’t ignore that these are treatments for symptoms, not cures for causes. The safety net, for many, feels less like a lifeline and more like a ration card—just enough to get by, never enough to thrive. The latest Department of Defense survey reveals that 7% of active-duty military spouses rely on WIC, and 1% on SNAP. These numbers are not just statistics; they are reminders that the promise of support is often conditional, incomplete, and controlled.
In moments like these, I recall Bakunin’s warning: “Even benevolence by authority is a mechanism of control, not emancipation.” When aid is dispensed from above, it reinforces dependency and hierarchy. It’s a system that says, “We will help you, but only on our terms.” This is not freedom. This is not dignity. It is a subtle form of discipline, ensuring that veterans remain grateful, quiet, and manageable.
The recent launch of the Veterans Insight Panel is a breath of fresh air in this landscape. For the first time, we have a tool that lets veterans speak for themselves—about their real experiences, their real needs. This is not just another academic exercise; it is a chance to challenge the state’s shadow, to bring light to the corners where suffering has been hidden or ignored. By inviting advocacy organizations to directly ask questions, we are shifting power away from bureaucratic gatekeepers and toward those who are actually living these realities.
But even as we celebrate these advances, I remain mindful of the larger design. The system is resilient, always adapting to maintain control. When government shutdowns threaten benefits, we see quick fixes—interest-free commissary purchases, reduced-price school meals. When Tricare for Life coverage lapses, a flurry of activity restores it. These are important, but they are not solutions. They are reminders that the safety net is always at risk of being pulled away, and that true security remains elusive.
Through it all, the stories brought to light by investigative journalists like Hope Hodge Seck remind us that real change begins with truth-telling. Our challenge is to keep pushing, to keep asking hard questions, and to refuse to accept suffering as the price of service. The state’s shadow is long, but with data, advocacy, and relentless inquiry, we can begin to design something better.
Producing Data, Reproducing Authority: Whose Knowledge Counts?
Reflecting on the journey to better understand America’s veterans, I am struck by how the act of producing data is never neutral. Each survey, each dataset, is shaped by choices—who gets to ask the questions, who gets to answer, and who decides what counts as knowledge. The recent launch of the Veterans Insight Panel, for all its promise, brings these questions into sharp focus.
On the surface, the panel is a leap forward. It promises rapid, high-quality insights from a diverse group of veterans, finally moving beyond the narrow lens of traditional Department of Veterans Affairs data. For the first time, we can ask about the real experiences that shape veterans’ lives—combat, hazardous exposures, and the daily realities that rarely make it into official reports. This is more than just an academic exercise; it’s a tool for advocacy, a way to bring the true needs of veterans into the light.
But as I look closer, I see the subtle ways in which authority is reproduced, even as we claim to democratize data. Access to the panel comes at a price—$2,000 per survey question. This fee, while modest compared to the cost of launching a national study, still acts as a gatekeeper. It means that only organizations with resources—foundations, advocacy groups, or well-funded researchers—can shape the questions that get asked. The promise of “democratization” is real, but it is also limited.
Panel access: $2,000 per survey question—gatekeeping in the guise of democratization.
Custom surveys allow direct advocacy—but only for those with resources to pay.
Panel’s design highlights a core Marxist insight: control the means of knowledge, control the direction of advocacy.
How “participatory” can research be when veterans answer but don’t define the questions?
This structure reveals a core truth that thinkers like Marx have long pointed out: control the means of knowledge production, and you control the direction of advocacy and change. Even as we invite veterans to share their stories, the power to define what is asked—and therefore, what is known—remains in the hands of those who can pay. The panel is participatory, but only up to a point. Veterans can answer questions, but they rarely get to decide what those questions are.
I am inspired by the panel’s potential to drive real-world change. For example, the upcoming deep dive into veteran underemployment, made possible by the Heinz Endowments, will finally shed light on a problem that has been hidden for too long. But I also recognize that this kind of research is only possible when someone with resources steps forward. What about the questions that go unasked because no one can afford to ask them? What about the needs that remain invisible because they don’t fit into a funder’s priorities?
We must also ask: Whose knowledge counts? When veterans are surveyed, their voices are heard, but only within the boundaries set by others. True participation would mean veterans not just answering questions, but helping to define them. It would mean shifting authority from the funders and researchers to the people whose lives are being studied. Until then, even the most innovative panels risk reproducing the same old hierarchies—just in a new form.
As we move forward, I remain hopeful. The Veterans Insight Panel is a step in the right direction, but it also reminds us that the struggle for truly inclusive knowledge—and truly equitable authority—is far from over. The data we produce shapes the world we build. The challenge is to ensure that every veteran, not just those with access or influence, has a say in what that world looks like.
Stories Weaponized: Mainstream Coverage, False Consciousness, and Hope
Reflecting on the landscape of American veterans, I am struck by how our stories are both a source of power and, sometimes, a tool for others’ agendas. For years, mainstream journalism—led by dedicated reporters like Hope Hodge Seck—has brought veterans’ struggles into the national spotlight. Her investigative work across Military.com, the Washington Post, Politico Magazine, USA Today, and Popular Mechanics has ensured that the hardships, triumphs, and resilience of veterans reach policymakers and the public alike. These stories matter. They shape public opinion and can spark real change.
Yet, I cannot ignore how often these stories are weaponized. The media’s coverage, while crucial, sometimes funnels our outrage and empathy into calls for only incremental policy tweaks—never the deeper, structural transformation so many of us crave. We see headlines about underemployment, healthcare gaps, or food insecurity, and the response is often a new program or a funding boost. These are important steps, but they rarely challenge the underlying systems that create these problems in the first place.
State-aligned philanthropy—from the Heinz Endowments to Fisher House—plays a similar double-edged role. Their support is real and meaningful. Grants like the $400,000 in Fisher awards to nonprofits serving military families, or the Heinz Endowments’ sponsorship of research into veteran underemployment, provide vital lifelines. But these acts of charity also serve to highlight heroism and resilience, sometimes masking the structural violence and policy failures that make such charity necessary. By celebrating veterans’ strength, we risk glossing over the policies and practices that leave so many struggling.
This dynamic is not accidental. Veteran stories are often enlisted—not just to inspire, but to secure public buy-in for ongoing war, militarism, and ever-expanding security budgets. When the narrative centers on sacrifice and patriotism, it becomes easier for leaders to justify new conflicts or increased defense spending. The lived experiences of veterans are transformed into a kind of moral currency, spent to maintain the status quo rather than to demand true justice or peace.
I am reminded of Bakunin’s vision—a call for genuine liberation that disarms both paternalist charity and the public relations machine. True freedom for veterans, and for all of us, means more than being the subject of heartwarming news stories or the recipients of well-meaning grants. It means dismantling the structures that require such interventions in the first place. It means refusing to let our stories be used as tools for someone else’s agenda, whether that’s a politician seeking votes or a corporation seeking contracts.
And yet, there is hope. The launch of the Veterans Insight Panel marks a turning point. For the first time, we are gathering data that reflects the full diversity of veterans’ experiences—combat, exposure to hazards, underemployment, and more. This panel is not just a research tool; it is a platform for advocacy, giving veterans a direct voice in shaping the policies that affect us. By making this data accessible to organizations and advocates, we are shifting the narrative from one of passive charity to active empowerment.
Our stories are powerful. When told honestly and used wisely, they can drive real, lasting change. But we must remain vigilant. We must insist that our voices are not just heard, but heeded—and that the solutions offered go beyond surface-level fixes. Only then can we move from false consciousness to true hope, from stories weaponized to stories that liberate.
Building Dual Power: Toward a Radical, Decentralized Veterans Research Movement
Reflecting on the progress we’ve made with initiatives like the Veterans Insight Panel, I’m filled with hope—but also with questions about what true power and liberation could look like for America’s veterans. For too long, the stories and struggles of veterans have been filtered through the lens of government agencies, academic institutions, and paid access panels. Even as we celebrate new tools that promise more representative data, I can’t help but wonder: what would it mean for veterans themselves to control the research, the framing, and the action that follows?
This is not just a technical question about survey methods or sample sizes. It’s a deeper challenge to the very structure of authority. As Bakunin famously argued, real emancipation doesn’t come from being included in the systems that once excluded us. It comes from building our own, voluntary, autonomous collectives—spaces where we set the agenda, define the questions, and own the answers. For veterans, this means moving beyond being subjects of research or even participants in someone else’s study. It means becoming the authors of our own data, the architects of our own narratives.
Imagine, for a moment, a “mutual aid survey syndicate”—a grassroots network where veterans survey each other, share stories, and pool data freely, outside the channels sanctioned by the State or by institutional gatekeepers. In this vision, data isn’t just gathered; it’s liberated. No one needs to pay thousands of dollars to ask a question. No one’s experience is left out because it doesn’t fit a bureaucratic checkbox. Instead, every veteran’s voice is heard, valued, and woven into a living tapestry of collective knowledge.
This isn’t just a utopian dream. We’ve already seen glimpses of what’s possible when veterans organize outside official structures—whether in mutual aid groups, online forums, or local advocacy circles. These spaces are often more responsive, more inclusive, and more attuned to the real needs of veterans than any top-down program. By applying the same spirit to research, we can create a new kind of power: not the power to be counted, but the power to count ourselves.
Of course, building this dual power is not without challenges. There are real risks in going outside established systems—risks of fragmentation, misinformation, or being ignored by policymakers. But the alternative is to accept a world where veterans’ realities are always filtered, always partial, always mediated by someone else’s priorities. In fighting for data liberation, we model the kind of society worth living in—one where every voice is present not as data, but as power.
I am inspired by the resilience and creativity I see in the veterans’ community every day. From grassroots organizing to investigative journalism, from mutual aid to innovative research panels, we are already laying the groundwork for a radical, decentralized movement. The next step is to trust ourselves—to believe that we can not only tell our own stories but also use them to shape the world we want to see.
As we reckon with power and imagine new futures, let us remember: the most meaningful change comes not from being included in someone else’s system, but from building our own. Together, we can create a veterans research movement that is truly by us, for us—one that honors every experience, amplifies every voice, and transforms data into real, collective power.
TL;DR: The Veterans Insight Panel may mark a shift in veteran research, but unless the production and application of data is seized from State and Capital by veterans themselves, we’re just reinforcing new gilded cages. Question everything, and organize for real liberation.