As the nation pauses this Memorial Day to honor and remember those who have served, many veterans are now facing a new battle at home.

Recently, the Trump administration has launched a series of attacks on veterans and servicemembers, including massive layoffs at the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) that are expected to add to delays in getting services, efforts to scrub Black and female leaders from U.S. military history, and a ban on transgender servicemembers.

In addition to these abuses that have dominated the news cycle, there’s another threat to veterans’ civil rights that hasn’t received as much attention. In two current legal cases, the federal government is arguing that a law known as the Veterans Judicial Review Act (VJRA) blocks the veteran plaintiffs from going to federal district court to pursue their federal civil rights claims.

The American Civil Liberties Union filed friend-of-the-court briefs on behalf of legal scholars to ensure that the veteran plaintiffs get their day in court.

Enacted in 1988, the VJRA is a federal law that establishes the process for veterans to challenge their VA benefits decisions. The VJRA directs veterans to appeal their benefits decisions to the U.S. Court of Appeals for Veterans Claims (CAVC), then to the U.S. Federal Circuit, and then to the U.S. Supreme Court. It also prohibits federal district courts from reviewing judgments made by the VA in determining individualized benefits.

Prior to the VJRA, veterans had no way of challenging their benefits decisions; they simply had to accept the VA’s determination -- erroneous or not. When Congress passed the VJRA, it gave veterans access to a formal system of judicial review. Now, however, the government is trying to weaponize that system to deny veterans justice.

Over the past decade, the government has argued -- and some courts have accepted -- that the VJRA prevents federal district courts from reviewing any decision that the VA may make in benefits determinations, even when the veteran is not challenging a prior benefit decision. Most recently, in Powers v. McDonough—a case brought by disabled veterans seeking reasonable accommodations under the Rehabilitation Act for VA benefits they had already been awarded—the government argued that the VJRA bars the veteran plaintiffs’ Rehabilitation Act claims. Similarly, in NOW-NYC v. Department of Defense—a challenge to the VA’s restrictive eligibility requirements for IVF care—the government claimed that the VJRA prevents veterans from bringing civil rights challenges to laws affecting VA benefits.

The government’s interpretation of the VJRA effectively denies veterans a meaningful opportunity to pursue their civil rights claims.

Take, for example, the issue in Powers. The government claims that a veteran can channel their Rehabilitation Act claims through the VJRA process—filing a claim with the VA, appealing to the CAVC, and so forth. But under VA regulations, veteran courts can only review claims for benefits administered under VA law. The VA cannot process a veteran’s Rehabilitation claims because the Rehabilitation Act is not a law administered by the VA. Even if the VA were somehow able to process such a claim, veteran courts are not able to provide the full suite of remedies available under civil rights law. Only a federal district court can provide such relief. Thus, the government’s argument would leave the veterans in a jurisdictional no-man’s land where they couldn’t present their civil rights claim in any court.

This is the same issue in NOW-NYC. There, the veteran plaintiffs filed a lawsuit to challenge a federal law that restricts eligibility for IVF benefits. They argue that the law violates the Constitution and the Affordable Care Act. But VA regulations do not permit the agency to resolve such a case. Nor do they allow veteran courts to issue the type of relief that the veteran plaintiffs seek.

Setting aside the practical issues with the government’s argument, it is also legally wrong. The VJRA was never intended to categorically prevent veterans from accessing federal district courts in cases where they are neither challenging nor seeking review of individualized benefits decisions. The VJRA was designed to prevent veterans from relitigating their benefits decisions and provide veterans a formal judicial review process.

Put simply, neither the VJRA’s text nor purpose supports denying the veteran plaintiffs in Powers and NOW-NYC their right to bring these claims in federal district court.

Given the government’s dangerous interpretation of the VJRA, we filed friend-of-the-court briefs in Powers v. McDonough and NOW-NYC v. Department of Defense, urging the courts to recognize that the VJRA does not prohibit federal district courts from hearing the veteran plaintiffs’ civil rights claims. We hope the courts will reject the government’s position and read the VJRA for what it was intended to be: a law designed to protect veterans—not hurt them.

Five years ago, the world watched the murder of George Floyd for over nine excruciating minutes. In the weeks and months that followed, millions of people flooded the streets to condemn police violence. For some, George Floyd’s murder was a disturbing reminder of police brutality and racism. For others, it was an awakening to the horrors of discriminatory policing. In many cities, people protested Floyd’s death, further entangling them with police misconduct.

In New York City, dozens of protesters levelled excessive force claims against the New York City Police Department (NYPD). Protestors lawfully marched through the Bronx—calling for an end to police violence as neighbors leaned from nearby windows and cheered—when NYPD officers in riot gear encircled them, trapped them, and then assaulted them with batons and fists. As police pressed hundreds of people together, one woman screamed that she couldn’t breathe. Officers looked away. Her plea meant nothing to them just as the same plea from George Floyd meant nothing to Officer Derrick Chauvin.

This violence reflected a deeper failure across the country: police department policies, practices, and culture encourage police to disregard civil rights protections. Despite progress made over the last few years, today the Trump administration is encouraging police brutality and dismantling oversight of police departments known to violate the Constitution. But we are not backing down. The ACLU and our partners across the country are coming together to advance transparency about police brutality and push forward reforms that prevent abuse.

Immediately following George Floyd’s murder, people in communities across the country organized, made their voices heard, and demanded investigations into the systemic abuse they and their neighbors faced every day. Taking office less than a year after Floyd’s murder, then-President Joe Biden worked to support police reform across the country. Under his administration, the Department of Justice (DOJ) conducted thorough investigations into urban and rural police departments, including overlooked and under-resourced places. The DOJ investigated 12 law enforcement agencies for abuse of power. They completed 11 before Trump took office in January 2025 and, in every place they investigated, they found police had a practice of violating constitutional rights that was so common it had effectively become policy.

In seven states—Massachusetts, New York, Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi, Arizona, and Minnesota—the DOJ found a combination of routine use of excessive force and the disproportionate targeting of Black people. Based on reviewing extensive records, interviewing scores of officers, and joining officers in the field, the DOJ found that misconduct was not a result of a few “bad apples,” but a consequence of department policies, practices, and culture.

The reports are devasting account of human suffering. In Louisville, a 14-year-old child was badly injured after police set a dog on him and allowed the dog to gnaw his arm. In Memphis, police punched and kicked people who were handcuffed or otherwise already restrained. In New York, police strip-searched nearly every person they arrested. = In all seven places, investigators found evidence that police were targeting people based on race.

Shedding light on these horrors was supposed to foster accountability and be a step towards ending police brutality. Historically, the federal government facilitates a binding agreement with police departments found to have violated the Constitution that requires them to address the well-documented problems within the department. But instead of following through to deliver accountability, safety, and justice, the Trump administration is turning its back on these horrors.

In an executive order issued in April, President Trump directed the DOJ to create guidance for law enforcement agencies “to aggressively police communities,” directed the Department of Defense (DOD) to increase police militarization, and directed the attorney general to criminally-prosecute local actors who supposedly interfere with policing—where interference is code for requiring compliance with the Constitution. Last week, the DOJ withdrew consent decrees designed to cure rampant constitutional violations in Minneapolis and Louisville, and retracted findings in Arizona, New Jersey, Tennessee, New York, Oklahoma, and Louisiana.

These actions do not just make it harder to achieve the change we once envisioned, they send a message that the government is willing to look away from harm being inflicted on our communities – even when the harm is plain as day.

The reality, however, is that communities have never waited on the federal government to do the work. While the DOJ has played a crucial role in addressing police abuse, police reform has often been advanced by local coalitions that demand change in their own backyards. The commitment to ending police brutality remains strong because people understand that safety must include safety from police violence.

In the Seven States Safety Campaign, the ACLU and community groups across the country are filling the police-accountability void by monitoring police violence and continuing the push for reform. Last week, we sent demands for police records under state freedom of information laws to police agencies in each of the seven states where the DOJ found excessive force and racial targeting. The demands primarily ask for documents that officers create when they use force or conduct a stop, which should shed light on any continued officer excessive force and racial profiling. Some demands ask for policies and data on police activity; others ask for records related to officer-committed sexual violence. Together, responses would allow the ACLU and community partners to understand where problems persist and what reforms are needed.

While law enforcement officials might try to resist transparency, the demands fit comfortably within what they’re required to provide under state law. They must respond in good faith to unite us in our efforts to prevent tragedies and protect civil rights. If they don’t, we’ll see them in court.

As we reflect on George Floyd’s tragic murder, and the police brutality against protesters in its aftermath, we must remember that this untenable violence can be avoided. The Trump administration’s abandonment of reform despite damning evidence of police brutality is a manifestation of an ongoing, urgent national problem with police brutality, especially toward Black and brown people. State and local officials have the power to implement reforms that prevent police abuse and ensure that police comply with the Constitution. They must act, because protecting civil rights is not optional if we want to live in a just and safe society.

*Name has been changed to protect identities

Just days after Donald Trump’s first inauguration, Sarah* and Matt* rushed to City Hall to get married, not because of romance or tradition, but because they were terrified. A recently-signed executive order that came to be known as the “Muslim Ban” signaled to them that the administration would wage war on immigrants. In fact, that war had already begun.

“I never thought about marriage as a necessity,” Sarah explains. “But once Trump was elected, my knee-jerk reaction was to protect [Matt.] I thought marriage might give me some power. At least I could ask where he was if he got detained.”

Sarah, a U.S. citizen, and Matt, who is undocumented, met in the early 2000s. Their friendship grew over shared experiences and conversations, especially during a stretch when Sarah left the country to visit relatives and realized that, before coming to America, Matt had lived in a similar area as her relatives. Their connection, forged long before Matt’s immigration status became a threat, turned into a committed partnership.

After Trump took office, the stakes changed.

Being married to a U.S. citizen does not protect an undocumented person from being deported or detained. Even attempting to pursue legal status involves navigating a punishing and expensive bureaucracy.

“You have to qualify for a [hardship] waiver and then you have to leave the country for an interview. [Nothing is] guaranteed. It’s all a gamble—and a very costly one,” Sarah says. “We didn’t realize how high the bar was, or how many roadblocks were ahead.”

Matt has lived in the U.S. for more than 20 years. He pays taxes with an IRS-issued Taxpayer Identification Number (TIN). “Since day one,” he says, “I’ve done what’s right. But none of that matters. With Trump [there’s now a] target on my back. It’s no longer about whether I’m ‘good’—it’s about when [the immigration agents] come for me.”

Reality for Sarah and Matt is a constant, grinding anxiety. The threat isn’t just deportation, but unlawful detention. “Our worst fear is being separated,” Sarah says. “The detention system is designed to exploit people. Bodies are now a commodity.”

After they were married, Sarah and Matt applied for what’s known as a hardship waiver, which allows an individual who is otherwise inadmissible to the U.S. to pursue legal citizenship if they can prove that their removal would cause extreme hardship to a U.S. citizen family member. To qualify, they were forced to submit extensive documentation, go through biometric screenings and provide Sarah’s medical records. Giving the U.S. government this much information on them without the guarantee their waiver may be granted has only deepened their vulnerability.

“You give them everything—bank accounts, personal history—and in the end, all it does is make you easier to find if they decide to take you,” Sarah says.

Their plans—going back to school, building a future—are suspended. Every ounce of energy goes into staying safe, navigating bureaucracy, and advocating for others in similar situations.

“There’s no plan,” Matt says. “We just take it day by day. If I leave the house, I wonder if I’ll come back.”

Even basic employment is now difficult. Without a work permit, Matt can’t get a stable job, even though he’s worked multiple jobs for years to support his family.

“People don’t understand,” Sarah says. “There is no visa for a dishwasher. There’s no path for the people doing the essential work that keeps this country running.”

Sarah tried to secure “parole in place” status for Matt—a policy that allowed undocumented spouses of citizens to apply for work permits without risk of raids. It was swiftly shut down after political opposition.

“It makes me resentful when people claim immigrants are here to steal jobs,” Matt says. “I didn’t come here to take anything. I came here because it was my last choice. Either I migrate somewhere or I end up dead or jailed in my home country.”

Sarah adds that, in her experience not just with Matt, but with others in their community, it’s become clear that the “system is designed to exploit. You’re good enough to pay taxes and into social security, but not good enough to be protected or have rights. That’s the trap.”

Sarah and Matt’s story is a reminder that the immigration system in the U.S. is more punitive than probative. Matt has consistently attempted to find legal paths to citizenship and has been consistently denied. Sarah has consistently advocated for her partner but, in a political climate where immigration is a wedge issue, she fears that scapegoating, racism and discrimination now defines U.S. policy.

“All we want now is peace,” Sarah says. “We just don’t want to be terrorized by our government. They’re stealing our time, our quality of life. It’s hideous."