Showing posts with label Wounded Warrior Project. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wounded Warrior Project. Show all posts
Monday, February 1, 2016
Wounded Warrior Project overspends on its staff, ex-employees say
The Wounded Warrior Project, a national nonprofit organization that supports service members wounded in the line of duty, has been accused of blowing millions of dollars in donation money on spoils for its staff, according to a new two-part CBS News investigation.
The CBS investigation was reportedly inspired by Charity Navigator, a nonprofit organization that promotes fiscal transparency among charities. Its scrutiny of public records found that WWP spent 60 percent of its donations on veterans, the remainder of which the CBS News team set out to account for.
"According to the charity's tax forms, spending on conferences and meetings went from $1.7 million in 2010, to $26 million in 2014," the report reads. "That's about the same amount the group spends on combat stress recovery — its top program."
SFA Commo Sergeant Comments: Some of the best rated Veterans Groups with well over 90% of proceeds going to the Vets are:
The Task Force Dagger Foundation
The Green Beret Foundation
Special Operations Warrior Foundation
Article from Military Times
Friday, January 29, 2016
Barry Coates, Poster Child for Poor VA Care, Dead at 46
A veteran was at heart of VA scandal Barry Coates, the U.S. veteran who became the human face of the Veterans Affairs scandal over delays in care in 2014, died on Saturday of the cancer that wracked his body after waits for medical care at a VA facility. He was 46.
Coates became a national figure representing delays in medical care at VA hospitals after he was featured prominently in a CNN investigation in January 2014.
The CNN investigation that included Coates was the first national story about delays in care across the country that year. It led to a national controversy resulting in the resignation of VA Secretary Eric Shinseki, and ultimately a law that provided $16 billion to overhaul the Department of Veterans Affairs, passed by Congress and signed by President Obama.
After the CNN story about him, Coates was asked to testify before Congress about the delays in his medical care. When he got to Washington, Coates told lawmakers he had suffered for months, waiting for a simple medical procedure that might have saved his life.
Coates testified he was dying of cancer because the procedure was delayed at several VA facilities, including the William Jennings Bryan Dorn VA Medical Center in Columbia, South Carolina.
Leaving some lawmakers in tears and making national news again, Coates described in detail how he waited months, even begging for an appointment to have a colonoscopy. But he found himself on a growing list of veterans also waiting for appointments and procedures.
About a year after first complaining to his doctors of pain, Coates said, he was able to get a colonoscopy. Doctors discovered a cancerous tumor the size of a baseball. By then he had Stage 4 cancer, and it was only a matter of time before he was overtaken by the illness, he told lawmakers.
From his first interview, Coates, a simple but articulate man from rural South Carolina, spoke eloquently about how veterans should be treated better, and deserved more after all the sacrifices they had made for their country.
"Due to the inadequate and lack of follow-up care I received through the VA system, I stand before you terminally ill today," Coates told members of the House Committee on Veterans' Affairs.
The lawmakers who heard him testify were shaken by his description, and about the numerous deaths of other veterans outlined in CNN's investigation.
"This is an outrage! This is an American disaster!" Rep. Jackie Walorski, an Indiana Republican, nearly screamed, her voice quavering, during that congressional hearing, in April 2014. "My dad was a veteran. He died of colon cancer," she said, crying softly. "This is so personal to me."
Coates remained friendly and kind, was never hostile, and even kept his humor as his illness progressed. Speaking with his down-home and polite country manner, the Army veteran had a remarkable ability to touch many people with his story.
Coates' family said he died Saturday from the cancer that had been left untreated by the VA for so long. After his time in the national spotlight, Coates continued to rail against the VA and fight for veterans to get better treatment, continuing to speak with reporters and helping them understand the VA crisis and scandal as it unfolded.
Coates' son, Shane, 23, on Wednesday described his father's fight and how he remained committed to helping other veterans to the end.
"Everything they did at the VA was dragged out, it was never a quick appointment for anything," Shane Coates said. "He had to wait so long to get any treatment. After what happened to him, he just wanted to fight for other veterans."
"He wanted to show the world that when you go fight for your country, it's not right that you come home and then you have to fight just to get basic medical treatment," Shane Coates said. "The way they treated him, and other veterans, it's just not the way any veteran should ever be treated. It's just not right."
Coates was buried Wednesday in Bethune, South Carolina, after a service at the Timrod Baptist Church. In addition to Shane, Coates is survived by his father, Barry Coates Sr.; his wife, Donna; his brother Randall; his sister Dawanna; and by four other children: Scotty, 25; Breanna, 24; Troy, 22; and Tyler, 16.
Article from CNN
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Wounded Warrior Project Under Fire
Is a much-touted charity for American veterans everything it says it is? Not so, from this article from The Daily Beast.
Over the past decade, the Wounded Warrior Project has emerged to become one of the celebrated charities in the country—but with its prominence comes deeper scrutiny and criticism.
It’s a broad but closely held sentiment within the veterans’ advocacy community: grumbling and critiques about the fundraising behemoth WWP has become, and whether it has been as effective as it could be.
In interviews, critical veterans’ advocates and veterans charged that the Wounded Warrior Project cares more about its image than it does about helping veterans; that it makes public splashes by taking vets on dramatic skydiving trips but doesn’t do enough to help the long-term wellbeing of those injured in combat.
These criticisms come from a broad cross-section of veterans and their advocates, the vast majority of whom refused to speak on the record due to the sway the Wounded Warrior Project carries.
“They are such a big name within the veterans’ community. I don’t need to start a war in my backyard,” a double-amputee veteran who served in Iraq told The Daily Beast.
But granted anonymity, the vet gave voice to what is at the very least a perception problem for the WWP: “They’re more worried about putting their label on everything than getting down to brass tacks. It’s really frustrating.”
The same veteran spoke of waking up in the hospital after an IED hit his supply truck—WWP, he said, had given him only trivial merchandise: a backpack, a shaving kit and socks.
“Everything they do is a dog-and-pony show, and I haven’t talked to one of my fellow veterans that were injured… actually getting any help from the Wounded Warrior Project. I’m not just talking about financial assistance; I'm talking about help, period,” he said.
Some gripe in interviews with the Beast about how the charity has become more of a self- perpetuating fundraising machine than a service organization. WWP certainly is successful at fundraising: It had revenues of more than $300 million, according to its most recent audited report, up from approximately $200 million the year before.
“In the beginning, with Wounded Warrior, it started as a small organization and evolved into a beast,” said Sam, an active-duty Army soldier who works with Special Forces. It's “become so large and such a massive money-maker,” he says, that he worries the organization cares about nothing more than raising money and “keeping up an appearance” for the public with superficial displays like wounded warrior parking spots at the Walmart.
Sam said he’s not interested in becoming involved with the Wounded Warrior Project after he leaves active-duty service—he prefers small nonprofits that are “just trying to survive” with a smaller budget and narrower mission.
“They’re laser-focused on making money to help vets, but forgetting to help vets,” said one veterans’ advocate. “It’s becoming one of the best known charities in America—and they’re not spending their money very well.”
The organization also engages in branded partnerships for everything from ketchup to paper towels to playing cards—something that rubs other veterans’ groups the wrong way.
“It’s more about the Wounded Warrior Project and less about the wounded warrior,” said a second veterans’ advocate.
Here are the charity’s self-reported results: As of September, the Wounded Warrior Project said it was serving more than 56,000 wounded vets and nearly 8,000 family members.
To date, the WWP's benefits team has helped 6,600 veterans submit benefit claims, and their Warriors to Work program helped place 1,900 veterans in jobs. The organization offers peer mentoring, employment assistance services, physical health and wellness activities, and long- term support initiatives.
But of the more than 56,000 veterans the group counts as “alumni,” meaning that they have been registered with the organization, many don’t directly engage with WWP.
Less than two-thirds (62 percent) of alumni participated in at least one WWP activity or service in the past year, according to a survey of alumni the group shared with the Beast. But according to their internal database, 78.9 percent of alumni have been involved with “engagements and interactions” with WWP this year.
The Wounded Warrior Project has also gotten mixed results from charity watchdogs: Charity Watch gave Wounded Warrior a C+ in 2013, up from a D two years prior. Charity Navigator gave it three out of four stars.
WWP claims to currently spend 80 percent of its budget on programs for veterans. But their formulation includes some solicitations with educational material on it as money spent on programs.
A 2013 collaboration between the Tampa Bay Times and the Center for Investigative Reporting reported that the charity spent just 58 percent of donations directly on veterans’ programs. That year, the figure WWP self-reported was 73 percent.
In contrast, a veterans’ charity like Fisher House, which received four stars from Charity Navigator and an A+ from Charity Watch, spent close to 95 percent of its budget on its programs.
There is also a distinct bitterness, especially from smaller advocacy groups, about the level of executive compensation doled out to the group’s leadership: For example, CEO Steven Nardizzi makes an annual salary of $375,000, according to their most recent tax report.
WWP counters that its volunteer Board of Director studies similar organization to determine executive compensation, and that their CEO’s compensation is approximately one-tenth of 1 percent of its budget. Nardizzi himself has dismissed charity ratings as unhelpful in the past.
Ken Davis, a veteran who served in Iraq before being injured, is considered among the “alumni” of the Wounded Warrior Project—even though he said he no longer wants to be associated with it.
“I receive more marketing stuff from them, [and see more of that] than the money they’ve put into the community here in Arizona,” he told the Beast. “It’s just about numbers and money to them. Never once did I get the feeling that it’s about veterans.”
He could have used a ride to a VA facility for health care, he said. But rather than receive practical assistance from the WWP, he got a branded fleece beanie.
“They’re marketing, they’re spending money—but on what?” Davis asked.
Outside defenders of the Wounded Warrior Project, in interviews with the Beast, suggested that critics were merely jealous of the charity’s success, and that the disapproving criticisms were merely a function of fear that WWP was eating up their donor dollars.
“There’s a certain level of jealousy, that [WWP] have such cachet, and on a daily basis people will associate [other prominent veterans’ groups] as Wounded Warrior. That rubs people the wrong way,” said one such defender in the nonprofit sphere.
As for the administrative costs of the charity, the nonprofit worker continued, “There is a fundamental misunderstanding in the public sphere about what it really costs to run an effective nonprofit.”
For its part, the Wounded Warrior Project dismisses much of the criticism.
The branding of products will “help to create awareness of the challenges and needs of this generation of veteran... help fund the 20 free programs and services we provide to injured veterans, their families and caregivers, and inform veterans of the programs and services we provide so that they can register as Alumni to take part in them,” their spokeswoman said.
As for the comfort packages and merchandise, Roberts notes that it reflects the group’s origins: WWP started with just six friends packing backpacks to provide items to wounded services warriors at Walter Reed Medical Center. And the group also says employees are empowered to provide direct assistance to veterans such as rent, utilities, food, and emergency repairs.
The Wounded Warrior Project is certainly not a scam, nor an ill-meaning charity. Even its fiercest detractors admit that WWP has the right motives, even if they believe WWP can be a lot more effective.
But as the Wounded Warrior Project has grown to become one of the nation’s most prominent veterans’ groups, it still has room for improvement.
Can it claim to serve 56,000 vets when at least one-third haven’t engaged with the group in the past year? Or claim to be maximally effective if it spends more of its budget on administrative costs than the top-ranked charities in the field do?
At the very least, the Wounded Warrior Project has a perception problem among a broad group of fellow veterans advocates and vets themselves.
“You have an organization that is spending God knows how many millions of dollars saying that they’re helping people, but they’re not,” said Davis, an Iraq veteran.
Chapter IX Commo Sergeant's comment: A little trip to the Combined Federal Campaign website, gave us the information on just how much of the donations that Wounded Warrior Project took in, went for Administrative costs and advertising - that was 16.7%. By comparison, the Special Operations Wounded Warrior spent 5.5% on admin and advertising; Task Force Dagger Foundation spent 5.4% on same and the Green Beret Foundation spent 4%.
Over the past decade, the Wounded Warrior Project has emerged to become one of the celebrated charities in the country—but with its prominence comes deeper scrutiny and criticism.
It’s a broad but closely held sentiment within the veterans’ advocacy community: grumbling and critiques about the fundraising behemoth WWP has become, and whether it has been as effective as it could be.
In interviews, critical veterans’ advocates and veterans charged that the Wounded Warrior Project cares more about its image than it does about helping veterans; that it makes public splashes by taking vets on dramatic skydiving trips but doesn’t do enough to help the long-term wellbeing of those injured in combat.
These criticisms come from a broad cross-section of veterans and their advocates, the vast majority of whom refused to speak on the record due to the sway the Wounded Warrior Project carries.
“They are such a big name within the veterans’ community. I don’t need to start a war in my backyard,” a double-amputee veteran who served in Iraq told The Daily Beast.
But granted anonymity, the vet gave voice to what is at the very least a perception problem for the WWP: “They’re more worried about putting their label on everything than getting down to brass tacks. It’s really frustrating.”
The same veteran spoke of waking up in the hospital after an IED hit his supply truck—WWP, he said, had given him only trivial merchandise: a backpack, a shaving kit and socks.
“Everything they do is a dog-and-pony show, and I haven’t talked to one of my fellow veterans that were injured… actually getting any help from the Wounded Warrior Project. I’m not just talking about financial assistance; I'm talking about help, period,” he said.
Some gripe in interviews with the Beast about how the charity has become more of a self- perpetuating fundraising machine than a service organization. WWP certainly is successful at fundraising: It had revenues of more than $300 million, according to its most recent audited report, up from approximately $200 million the year before.
“In the beginning, with Wounded Warrior, it started as a small organization and evolved into a beast,” said Sam, an active-duty Army soldier who works with Special Forces. It's “become so large and such a massive money-maker,” he says, that he worries the organization cares about nothing more than raising money and “keeping up an appearance” for the public with superficial displays like wounded warrior parking spots at the Walmart.
Sam said he’s not interested in becoming involved with the Wounded Warrior Project after he leaves active-duty service—he prefers small nonprofits that are “just trying to survive” with a smaller budget and narrower mission.
“They’re laser-focused on making money to help vets, but forgetting to help vets,” said one veterans’ advocate. “It’s becoming one of the best known charities in America—and they’re not spending their money very well.”
The organization also engages in branded partnerships for everything from ketchup to paper towels to playing cards—something that rubs other veterans’ groups the wrong way.
“It’s more about the Wounded Warrior Project and less about the wounded warrior,” said a second veterans’ advocate.
Here are the charity’s self-reported results: As of September, the Wounded Warrior Project said it was serving more than 56,000 wounded vets and nearly 8,000 family members.
To date, the WWP's benefits team has helped 6,600 veterans submit benefit claims, and their Warriors to Work program helped place 1,900 veterans in jobs. The organization offers peer mentoring, employment assistance services, physical health and wellness activities, and long- term support initiatives.
But of the more than 56,000 veterans the group counts as “alumni,” meaning that they have been registered with the organization, many don’t directly engage with WWP.
Less than two-thirds (62 percent) of alumni participated in at least one WWP activity or service in the past year, according to a survey of alumni the group shared with the Beast. But according to their internal database, 78.9 percent of alumni have been involved with “engagements and interactions” with WWP this year.
The Wounded Warrior Project has also gotten mixed results from charity watchdogs: Charity Watch gave Wounded Warrior a C+ in 2013, up from a D two years prior. Charity Navigator gave it three out of four stars.
WWP claims to currently spend 80 percent of its budget on programs for veterans. But their formulation includes some solicitations with educational material on it as money spent on programs.
A 2013 collaboration between the Tampa Bay Times and the Center for Investigative Reporting reported that the charity spent just 58 percent of donations directly on veterans’ programs. That year, the figure WWP self-reported was 73 percent.
In contrast, a veterans’ charity like Fisher House, which received four stars from Charity Navigator and an A+ from Charity Watch, spent close to 95 percent of its budget on its programs.
There is also a distinct bitterness, especially from smaller advocacy groups, about the level of executive compensation doled out to the group’s leadership: For example, CEO Steven Nardizzi makes an annual salary of $375,000, according to their most recent tax report.
WWP counters that its volunteer Board of Director studies similar organization to determine executive compensation, and that their CEO’s compensation is approximately one-tenth of 1 percent of its budget. Nardizzi himself has dismissed charity ratings as unhelpful in the past.
Ken Davis, a veteran who served in Iraq before being injured, is considered among the “alumni” of the Wounded Warrior Project—even though he said he no longer wants to be associated with it.
“I receive more marketing stuff from them, [and see more of that] than the money they’ve put into the community here in Arizona,” he told the Beast. “It’s just about numbers and money to them. Never once did I get the feeling that it’s about veterans.”
He could have used a ride to a VA facility for health care, he said. But rather than receive practical assistance from the WWP, he got a branded fleece beanie.
“They’re marketing, they’re spending money—but on what?” Davis asked.
Outside defenders of the Wounded Warrior Project, in interviews with the Beast, suggested that critics were merely jealous of the charity’s success, and that the disapproving criticisms were merely a function of fear that WWP was eating up their donor dollars.
“There’s a certain level of jealousy, that [WWP] have such cachet, and on a daily basis people will associate [other prominent veterans’ groups] as Wounded Warrior. That rubs people the wrong way,” said one such defender in the nonprofit sphere.
As for the administrative costs of the charity, the nonprofit worker continued, “There is a fundamental misunderstanding in the public sphere about what it really costs to run an effective nonprofit.”
For its part, the Wounded Warrior Project dismisses much of the criticism.
The branding of products will “help to create awareness of the challenges and needs of this generation of veteran... help fund the 20 free programs and services we provide to injured veterans, their families and caregivers, and inform veterans of the programs and services we provide so that they can register as Alumni to take part in them,” their spokeswoman said.
As for the comfort packages and merchandise, Roberts notes that it reflects the group’s origins: WWP started with just six friends packing backpacks to provide items to wounded services warriors at Walter Reed Medical Center. And the group also says employees are empowered to provide direct assistance to veterans such as rent, utilities, food, and emergency repairs.
The Wounded Warrior Project is certainly not a scam, nor an ill-meaning charity. Even its fiercest detractors admit that WWP has the right motives, even if they believe WWP can be a lot more effective.
But as the Wounded Warrior Project has grown to become one of the nation’s most prominent veterans’ groups, it still has room for improvement.
Can it claim to serve 56,000 vets when at least one-third haven’t engaged with the group in the past year? Or claim to be maximally effective if it spends more of its budget on administrative costs than the top-ranked charities in the field do?
At the very least, the Wounded Warrior Project has a perception problem among a broad group of fellow veterans advocates and vets themselves.
“You have an organization that is spending God knows how many millions of dollars saying that they’re helping people, but they’re not,” said Davis, an Iraq veteran.
Chapter IX Commo Sergeant's comment: A little trip to the Combined Federal Campaign website, gave us the information on just how much of the donations that Wounded Warrior Project took in, went for Administrative costs and advertising - that was 16.7%. By comparison, the Special Operations Wounded Warrior spent 5.5% on admin and advertising; Task Force Dagger Foundation spent 5.4% on same and the Green Beret Foundation spent 4%.
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