Bearing Witness at the VA: A Motherist Reflection on Care, Sacrifice, and National Responsibility

Recently, my dad has been ill and receiving care at a Veterans Administration hospital. During my time there, I began to notice something unsettling: a striking racial disparity among the patients. By my estimation, for every four or five veterans of color predominantly African American I saw perhaps one white veteran. This observation raised questions I have not been able to shake.

Is this disproportionate presence typical within VA hospitals across the country? Does it reflect broader national patterns in military service and veteran care? Or does it reveal deeper systemic issues in how services are accessed, provided, or restricted? I am aware of a small number of Black veterans who rarely use the VA because they retired from lucrative careers and have access to alternative healthcare; however, they are the exception, not the rule. Can employment privilege alone explain this disparity and why I see few caucasians? Or is something else at work?

At the same time, I have witnessed ongoing cutbacks in veteran services. This raises another unavoidable question: are these reductions in care racialized, particularly given the number of African American veterans who rely on these systems? In our current social and political climate, nearly everything is framed through a racialized lens healthcare, social services, food assistance, housing, and federal aid. The dominant narrative suggests that people of color are the primary beneficiaries of government resources. Yet the truth is quite the opposite. Statistically and historically, most government assistance has not been directed toward communities of color. Still, the perception persists that Black and brown communities are consuming “your tax dollars.”

What struck me most during my time at the VA was not only the visual disparity, but the profound sacrifice of African American veterans particularly men who placed their lives on the line for a nation that has repeatedly denied them basic rights, including the most fundamental of all: dignity.

As a mother and a Womanist, I am compelled to ask: what is the appropriate corrective to this reality?

From a Motherist theological and ideological framework, the answer must be rooted in care care that is communal, expansive, and unconditional. Motherism calls us to nurture and sustain life regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, or social location. If we cannot extend care to those who have sacrificed their bodies and lives in service to this nation, what does that say about who we are as a people?

This is not merely a policy issue; it is a moral one. I invite readers to sit with this as they engage this blog and its reflections. At its core, this conversation is about how we treat the least among us, and veterans too often find themselves in that category once their service is no longer deemed useful.

One thing becomes clear when you take time to truly listen within VA hospitals: you will hear as many stories of exclusion as stories of belonging. Yet in combat, there is no exclusion. In the trenches, on ships, or on the battlefield, there is no hierarchy of race, gender, or ability. When facing death or the possibility of it everyone occupies the same space, bound by survival and duty.

As a nation, we must reckon with this contradiction. We must reflect, recommit, and reimagine what it means to care for our veterans not selectively, not symbolically, but fully and faithfully. Our national character is revealed not in how we wage war, but in how we care for those who return from it.

Image: Hugo Breyer